#i have to stop making more drafts and FINISH SOMETHING GODDAMNIT

[boringmarinn]

[sunscactus]

My first post here and it’s a 5undywastaken god au... hate this furry

So in this god au almost all dsmp members are gods right? So here’s what I’ve sketched out so far (I’m not going to say what every person is because I haven’t thought that far </3 sorry)

Dream- Death

Wilbur- freedom/music

Fundy- Revolution

5up- mortal, he’s not a god

And like all I can think about is how Fundy didn’t exactly care for humans until he met Five.

To fundy he wasn’t a good god, he believed that his title would always mean constant fighting and wars. He was the catalyst. So he tried to avoid humans at all cost as to not stir trouble within the people.

Then one day while he was out doing who know what, he bumps into a man and like Fundy sorta freaks out because whenever god come in contact with humans that really never ends well and he’s sorta, you know, trying to avoid them. But the man is kind and asks if he’s alright and introduces himself as Five.

One thing leads to another and five invites fundy over to his place to have some food. Fundy a little hesitant at first but he sorta just accepts because this humans so nice and it’s just one person what can go wrong?

And nothing does go wrong. Fundy begins spending more time with that human more and more, and in turn, spends more time with mortals because of it. If it hadn’t been for the fact that he still had a responsibility as a god he likely would have stayed with the humans without ever leaving because have mortals always been this interesting and kind? Without bloodlust?

Five, however, starts to think that something off with Fundy and eventually does confront him about it which then Fundy likely reveals himself. When he does so Fundy worries that Five will change and want to use this yet instead he just gets asked questions about how gods work, what god he was, etc.

Some things happen and Five ends up teaching Fundy how revolution doesn’t always mean inner fights of humans against humans, it doesn’t always lead to war. Revolution meant change and this just knocks Fundy to the core because he grew up (do gods grow up??) believing revolution lead to war but give up has taught him how that’s not always the case and this helps him out so much in realizing what he can truly be able to do

They’re also in love because like duh. But gods falling in love with humans never end well since humans still die. And Fundy watching his love grow old will Fundy remains the same. He watch’s him change and Fundy is helpless to stop time from affecting him. Just as he is helpless to stop him from dying of old age. He’s in anguish, he cry’s, screams, mourning the loss of his lover.

But time heals all wounds, and eventually Fundy is able to continue his life. It’s a lot duller then before, but he can’t let his loss stop him from finishing what Five had wanted. Five wanted to create and help the world grow and mature and goddamnit was Fundy going to do that. He has practically become a normal human, an immortal one, but he might as well have resigned from being a god. So he continues to help people, to help in change because that’s what he was always meant to do. Bring change

He still mourns and there are times where he wishes to be able to see/be with five but he pushes forward because the mission five set to complete was far from finished.

And then he bumps into another god the same way Five had bumped into him oh so many years ago. It’s been so long since he had even seen a god that he hadn’t even realized at first, until he invites him back to his place for some food

When his guest introduces himself as Dream, and everyone knows about the god of death

THIS IS LRETTY RUSHED AND NOT VERY WELL ORGANIZED BUT hopefully when I write it all out... it will make sense... and who knows maybe I’ll give more detail about the other charas in the story since I do have some ideas about the relationship between Wilbur and Fundy, plus an idea on how gods work and also Phil. But that’s all for this idea dump, feel free to add on or something since I’m curious as to what other people think about this rough draft of an idea!

[wanderingcas]

anon prompt: “I’m so glad it’s you.” in other words: the coffeeshop au that no one asked for. destiel. 2k. fluff. (so much fluff.)

“Another one for you, Winchester,” Charlie calls across the tables with a wink. She waves the flimsy note between her fingers high above her head.

Dean drops his forehead against the counter and groans.

The notes have been non-stop since February. Every day, some secret admirer would leave a note tucked into the remains of a croissant, a coffee cup, a napkin holder—secret places that Charlie now found malicious glee searching for whenever she wiped down the tables.

Dean wasn’t complaining—at first. The small cafe tucked into an only marginally larger quiet town never gets a lot of excitement. At first the notes were cute. He has a whole drawer for them in his desk, next to the receipts.

But the notes have run their cute course, and have just become frustrating.

“It’s on pink stationary, this time,” Charlie announces, smacking the piece of paper on the counter next to Dean’s head. “It’s cute how they change colors every week.”

“This is just getting ridiculous,” Dean groans into the counter. He yelps when he feels something smack the back of his ass.

“Get your damn face off the countertop,” Bobby snaps as he walks past, rolling up the towel and poising to hit Dean again. “We serve food there.”

“He’s upset about the notes,” Charlie explains.

Bobby grunts, “Those still happenin’?”

“Yup. And Dean’s grumpy about it.”

“Why the hell are you complaining about someone having a crush on you?” Bobby demands.

“Because I don’t know who he or she is!” Dean exclaims. He straightens, scrubs his hands over his face. “They always leave the notes at the peak hours in the morning. They never give me any indication who they could be. They even keep changing their handwriting, for fuck’s sake.”

“They’re just probably really shy,” Charlie says with a shrug.

“For three months?”

The bell on the door announces someone’s arrival into the cafe. Bobby breaks away to go back to the kitchen, while Charlie looks busy bussing more tables.

Dean is prepared to paste on a fake smile; once he sees who it is, he realizes that he doesn’t have to. Instead a genuine grin spreads across his face as he says, “Hey, Cas.”

Cas tilts his head. Smiles. “Hello, Dean.”

“Your usual today?” Dean asks. His fingers are already punching in the order for a small black coffee and croissant into the register.

Adjusting his leather messenger bag’s strap on his shoulder, Cas nods. “Maybe to-go, this time? I’m late for my lecture.”

“You’re always late, though,” Dean says with a wink. “Aren’t your students expecting it by now?”

Cas huffs a quiet laugh. “You’re right. And I doubt they’d mind a lecture on annihilationism being delayed by a few minutes.”

Dean whistles. “Fun topic.”

“Indeed.” Cas hands Dean the cash; Dean puts it right into the till. He stopped counting it months ago.

Dean props his hip against the counter as he pours the coffee in a to-go cup. He squints out the window, at the quiet street and mailman walking past. “So, you having a good semester?” he asks to fill the silence. The silence continues, so he turns his head. “Cas?”

Cas is staring at the pink note on the counter, the one that Dean realizes in a split second that he forgot to put away. Hastily setting the styrofoam cup down, coffee sloshing over the sides, Dean scrambles to scoop the note up. He shoves it into his pocket. “Oh, that’s uh… that’s nothing.”

“A love note?” Cas asks, even though it’s not a question.

“Yeah, just some secret admirer.” Dean can feel the heat rising to his cheeks. He slams a plastic top onto the coffee cup and slides it across the counter into Cas’ hands.

Cas frowns at the spot where the note was. “Is it… upsetting?”

“Huh?”

“Upsetting. You seem upset.”

“Oh, uh.” Dean puts a hand on the back of his neck, hoping it’ll cool the blush that’s forming there. “No, I’m not upset. Just annoyed, I guess.”

“Why?”

At the intensely inquisitive blue stare that Cas is giving him, Dean can’t help but be honest. “It’s just frustrating, I dunno. I’ve been getting these notes for months and I have no idea who’s giving them to me. If the person isn’t gonna come forward, the notes might as well just stop.”

Cas nods. He’s fiddling with the rim of his coffee cup. “I see.”

It’s Dean’s naturally awkward nature that has him continuing, “It’s not like I don’t mind being admired, I guess, it’s just—”

“I have to go,” Cas suddenly blurts out.

Dean freezes. “Oh. Okay.”

“I’ll…” Cas raises a finger, like he’s going to say something else. Doesn’t. Instead he turns on his heel and takes long strides toward the exit, his trenchcoat flapping at his heels.

Dean stares after him, mouth agape. Charlie slides over and leans on her broom. “Well, we know one thing,” she says. “That admirer is probably leaving you notes instead of talking to you because you’re a disaster at flirting.”

“No one asked you,” Dean barks. He pretends to be busy with the till. He looks at Cas’ receipt, realizing belatedly that he never got his croissant.

* * * 

So it’s not like he outright wanted the notes to stop, but after that day of complaining about them, they stop coming.

At first Dean thinks it’s a mistake; maybe Charlie accidentally threw them away. She does clean tables really aggressively. But after a week of a noteless existence, it’s more than coincidence.

Cas doesn’t come as often for his daily coffee and croissant, either. Dean tries to tell himself that it doesn’t bother him—even as he’s finding himself less and less excited to come into work.

He’s cleaning the tables (not his job, technically, but he insisted on doing it after a week and a half of no love letters) when a woman comes through the door. She stands in the wake of the bell, eyes scanning the cafe hesitantly. When her eyes lock on Dean, she hones in on him like a homing beacon, walking toward him with new purpose.

Dean stands there and trepidly holds his washcloth in front of him.

“You’re Dean Winchester?” she asks.

“Uh. Yeah, who’s asking?”

She looks very serious. “I could tell it was you by the description of your eyes.”

Dean blinks. “The what-now?”

She holds out a folded-up piece of paper at arm’s length. “Here. It’s the last one.”

Dean would recognize that stationary anywhere; it’s the same light green as the first one he got on March 12th. “Are you my secret admirer?” he asks as he takes the note between his fingers.

“God, no,” she snorts. “I have a wife.”

“Then….”

“I’m here on a favor,” she explains. “And before you ask for who, I’m sworn to secrecy, so don’t even try.”

Dean reaches out a hand as she turns. “Hey, wait! Am I ever gonna know who it is? Or is this it, they just, stop sending notes and it’s done forever?”

She looks at him up and down; frowns. “From what I’m told, the notes were more annoying than appreciated. So it’s better that my little brother is saved the embarrassment and we all act like this just never happened.”

Dean gapes. Raises a finger. “Your little—”

Her eyes widen. “Shit.” She smacks her hand twice against her temple. “Goddamnit, this is why he never asks me for a favor,” she mutters as she turns on her heel and takes long strides toward the exit.

Dean hastily wipes his damp hands against his jeans before unfolding the note. He scans his eyes quickly over the text:

Dear Dean,

I want to let you know that this is the last note I will be sending to you. It’s not because my feelings have subsided, or lessened, but because I know that it’s cowardly to hide behind anonymity like this.  The reason why I started writing these notes is because firstly, you deserve the affection, and secondly, because I didn’t think there was a chance with you if you knew who I really was. I realize now that it was unfair of me to keep you in the dark like this.

One day, I will be brave enough to ask you on a real date. One day, I will be able to face the possibility of rejection. One day, I will be brave enough for you.

Until then.

It takes Dean three reads and a full five minutes to comprehend it. He finally snaps from his reverie, running to the kitchen where Bobby and Charlie are arguing whether or not to put parsley in the chicken noodle soup.

“Guys,” he says breathlessly. They both turn to him. “Guys, I know who my secret admirer is.”

* * * 

Dean knows that he has to make it right. So he spends the whole weekend drafting up the best letter he can manage. It takes ten beers, two drunken phone calls to Sam (he was always better at words), Charlie coming over with Chinese food, and a last-minute rambly paragraph to finish off the note. He goes to work on Monday armed with the envelope and determination. He blasts Zeppelin while putting down chairs and opening the till and dusting counters. He flings open the door at the beginning of the cafe hours to let in the fresh morning air. He puts the envelope in the front pocket of his jeans so as not to chicken out when Cas comes at 11:10 AM for his usual coffee.

But then 11:11 rolls by. And 11:20. And 12:30. He ignores the sympathetic looks that Bobby gives him from the kitchen, ignores Sam’s numerous texts all asking different variations of “did you do it yet??”

Dean’s about to give up all hope, when two minutes before closing, the bell chimes someone’s arrival. He looks up from where he’s slumped against the counter.

Cas looks different in this lighting; Dean usually sees him in the mornings. His tie is more errant, his hair more wild, like he’s run his fingers through it countless times. He strides up to the counter, face contorted.

“Dean,” he starts. “I have to explain.”

“Me too,” Dean says.

“No, I need to apologize—”

“Seriously, Cas, it ain’t a big deal.”

“It is. My sister…” Fingers running through his hair, Cas continues, “She told me that you basically figured it out. And that—I’m just so mortified, Dean. You must think I’m a psychotic stalker, slipping in during busy hours and leaving notes, I can’t even begin to explain how sorry I am, I—”

“Cas.” Dean yanks out the letter from his front pocket, smacks it on the counter. “I wrote you one too.”

He blinks down at the envelope. “You wrote me one too,” he repeats.

“Yup.” Dean leans forward; tries to put on a charming smile even though his heart feels like it’s going to pump its way down to his shoes. “Listen, I didn’t mean what I said earlier; that the notes are annoying. What was annoying was not being able to talk to the person who kept leaving those notes; actually thank them or anything, you know?”

Cas works his jaw, like he wants to say something, but doesn’t know what.

“I just wanted to know who the hell could notice all those things about me,” Dean says. “Who was observant enough to talk about, what was it? ‘The way my green eyes sparkle in the morning light’.”

That gets a full-blown blush on Cas’ face. Dean decides that it’s the most adorable thing he’s ever seen in his life. “That might have been… an over exaggeration—”

Dean taps the letter. “There’s plenty of exaggerations in here too, then,” he says. “‘Cause buddy, I wrote you the sappiest, most romantic piece of rambling poetry that I’ve ever done. I think it’ll just about make us even.”

“Even…?”

“Yeah. Even the playing field. Because now that we’ve both written ridiculous notes to each other, we can go ahead and do that ‘proper date’ you talked about.”

Cas’ face relaxes into a smile. “Oh.” He pulls the note across the counter; clutches it. “That sounds. Well, wonderful, actually.”

Dean grins. “Good. Cause I gotta say, Cas, when I figured out who was sending those notes—” He huffs out a laugh, shrugs, says to Cas’ brilliant smile, “I’ve just gotta say, I’m so glad it’s you.”

↳ prompts are open for mowripro, send one to my askbox.

[really-sleep-deprived-nerd]

Feelings Are Odd

Summary: Both Logan and Virgil are in love but confused about what “Love” is. They find a nice solution though.

Pairing: Analogical

Words: 1734

Warnings: None that I can think off. Maybe a tad bit out of character?? Yeah probably Logan is like Very Sappy in this one so. Out of character.

Notes: Do you guys remember that post I made of me using the Nerds TM to vent about my problems with feelings??? Yeah this is the fic and also what goes through my head when I like someone.

I have the first draft for a part two but the chances of me finishing it are infinitesimal, so sorry about that.

Logan knocked on virgil's door and calmly waited for the other to open it. Virgil poked his head from behind the door, looking confused and tired, but when he saw Logan, he smiled.

“Oh, hey L, do you need something?” Virgil asked and Logan nodded.

“Yes, I am in need of your assistance. I am attempting to understand a very strange and complicated feeling I have been having as of late and I would appreciate if you could help me do so.” Logan answered and Virgil gave him a confused look.

“Uh, I'm not saying I won't help you, but, why do you want my help? I mean, I don't understand half of my own feelings most of the time and on top of that, you know a person that is literally feelings personified, so why don't you ask him?” The anxious side asks as he leans on the doorframe.

“While it might be true that you have problems understanding your own feelings, there is no way you could fare worse than me in this emotions matters.” Virgil snorted at that and Logan continued. “And in regards to why I don't ask Patton, the reason is very simple: While Im aware that he and Roman should be considered experts on these matters, they both seem to experience said feelings a lot stronger than I do and I believe they won't be able to completely understand what I mean because of that and my own inability to express my emotions.”

Virgil nods and Logan continues explaining his line of thought. “Since you seem to be the most calm and rational out of the three of the remaining sides I consider myself friends with I thought you might be the best suited to assist me in coming to a conclusion about this.”

“Fair enough. Want us to go to your room? This looks like it's going to be a long chat and we both know what my room does to anyone who stays for too long and if what you want to talk about is important enough for you to ask for help, then I think you would want to keep your head clear for that.”

Logan stopped and thought for a second before nodding. “You are very correct, follow me please.”

The more they approached Logan´s room the more Logan seemed to grow, ironically enough, anxious. Once they were in Logan's room, Virgil sitting cross legged in Logan's desk chair and Logan sitting on his bed, the logical side looked almost scared.

“Well, nerd, spill, what's up?”

“I'm going to say this and I beg of you to don't freak out or get angry at me.” Virgil raised an eyebrow at that and looked at Logan squinting.

“Your feelings are about me, aren't they?” It sounded less like a question and more like an affirmation and Logan sighed.

“Yes, and even though they aren't bad, far from it actually, I'm starting to believe that maybe asking your help wasn't the brightest of ideas”

“No shit sherlock.” Virgil actually laughed. “Logan trust me, its fine, you did what you thought was better and most rational. Honestly, if I wasn't such an anxious mess I would have probably asked for your help with basically the same problem a long time ago.” Logan seemed to physically relax for a second, but then he looked at Virgil confused.

“Why would have you asked my help with feelings?”

“When I feel something strong for someone my anxiety tends to cloud my judgment and makes me second guess my own feelings a lot and it's literally the most frustrating shit I have ever dealt with. I need unbiased logic to try and differentiate what are my true feelings and what are a product of my own fears and anxieties”

“Oh, in that case, feel free to come to me when you are having trouble with that, I will help you to the best of my ability.”

Virgil smiled at him and then gestured at Logan to continue. “Thanks L, now, you were saying, feelings?”

“Ah, yes, I believe I might be harboring romantic feelings towards you, but I'm not entirely sure if they are truly romantic feelings or if they are merely some extremely strong platonic feelings.” Logan said with his face neutral, even if you could hear a tint of nervousness in his voice. Virgil blinked owlishly at him for a second, and then he almost started laughing. Almost.

“Of course, of fucking course you are having the same doubt I have. Goddamnit Logan.” Virgil pinched the bridge of his nose and Logan looked at him curiously.

“Im afraid I don't understand what you mean by “same doubt you have”, would you care to elaborate?”

“I meant that ,remember what I said earlier about my anxiety making me doubt my feelings? Well, I meant exactly that. I have literally the same problem: I think I like you, but I'm not sure if I really like you-like you or if I just really really enjoy your company.” Virgil explained and Logan nodded in understanding. A extremely faint blush creeped up on both of their faces.

“Oh, am I correct in assuming by how irritated you sound that you havent reached a conclusion regarding your feelings?” Virgil nodded and Logan pinched the bridge of his nose. “Then there is a big chance that this conversation will be useless, given the fact that we are both completely lost.”

“I'm not so sure about that.” Virgil argued. “I mean, so far we both have been dealing with our feelings alone and just thinking about them and I'm pretty sure I read something that said that talking about feelings made it easier for you to understand them and deal with them.”

“I believe you might be right, but if we are going to start talking and analyzing my feelings then we are going to do the exact thing with you.”

“Fair enough.” Virgil conceded. “The most basic question to ask is: What do you feel?”

“Has that ever worked for you?”

Virgil barked a laugh at that and shook his head. “No, but you are a lot more smarter than I am, L.”

“Falsehood, we both are brilliant in our own ways.” Logan sighed pinching the bridge of his nose. “It would be wonderful if our brilliancy would apply to the matters of the heart too.”

“Logan you are avoiding my question and you know it.” Virgil reminded. “What do you feel?”

“I…” Logan paused, trying to gather his thoughts. “I feel quite warm and happy when I'm near you, very much comfortable and relaxed, which is odd because I tend to be incredibly stressed most of the time. Have you ever felt something like that? Like you are at peace when you are near me?”

“Yes, actually I, uh, feel like that too, but you put it in words that actually make sense, the difference with me is that instead of stressed I tend to be anxious most of the time.”

“Then I just have this sudden thoughts that feel so strange, but so right at the same time.”

“How? Like when you start rambling about things that you are passionate about and the only thing that comes to my mind is “I could listen to him for hours”?” Virgil asked, just a tad bit embarrassed  Logan nodded, blushing just a tiny bit.

“Exactly like that, and even if i'm pretty sure that thinking things like that should be a tell-tale sign that my feelings are indeed romantic I can't help but doubt it because…”

“Because you started having this kind of thoughts after you started entertaining the idea that you might like me?” Virgil supplied and Logan nodded.

“Yes, that and the fact that usually romantic feelings come hand in hand with a feeling of nervousness when you are around the object of your affection and that one should have a bit of trouble speaking coherently or eloquently when near them, but I just feel nothing but warm and peace.”

“Yeah! And people say that when you love someone you are bound to grow jealous of them but I just feel nothing??? Like, why would I feel jealous?? First of all you are my friend, so your happiness comes first and second why the fuck would I care?? If we were dating I trust you to no fuck things up and and since we aren't it's not my damn business to feel like that!”

“Yes! My exact thoughts!” Logan exclaimed.

They grew quiet for a minute or so, until the logical side spoke again.

“Also, it really scares me how fast I know I could just squish this feelings, you know? Like, Im aware that if I ever confessed-”

“Logan we kinda just did that.” Virgil interrupted, heavily amused.

“Yes I know let me finish explaining this- and you didn't feel the same, as long as our friendship keeps onwards like it currently is, I wouldn't really mind that much, and people always seem to be so heartbroken when their crushes don't feel the same about them.”

“I get you, yeah. As long as you are in my life I wouldn't mind staying platonic, Im happy to just get hugs and cuddles.” Virgil said and Logan nodded, a soft smile on his face. “But, the thing is, that was when we were in the dark about what the other felt, and now we know we literally feel the exact same, so, my question is: What do we do now?”

“Excellent question: I have no clue.” Logan practically deadpanned and Virgil laughed.

“Maybe we should just, like, take things slow and keep going how we are right now, but maybe listening to our feelings just a bit more.”

“That sounds satisfactory, but may I inquire what exactly do you mean by listening to our feelings just a bit more?” Logan asked. “Do you mean like when you rest your head in my lap while you are mindlessly scrolling through your phone and Im reading and  instead of  having to physically restrain myself from start brushing your hair with my fingers like I usually do, I should just, do it?” Logan asked, blushing lightly and Virgil smiled fondly at him.

“Yeah, exactly like that.” He said, stretching as he got up from the chair. “Wanna go watch a movie downstairs?”

“Yes, that would be wonderful.”

[carmenlire]

Stolen Hearts

Happy Valentine’s Day Part II!

read on ao3

Walking through the Gallery, Alec feels anticipation trickle down his spine. This job was one of his bigger hauls and just the thought of getting his hands on the sixteenth century sculpture has has pulse spiking.

He’s a professional, though, and even if excitement is lighting him up on the inside, he’s outwardly calm and cool.

His black combat boots make no sound on the marble floor as he makes his unerring way towards the location of his target. Thankfully, the owners of this villa were away for the week-- off on a weekend getaway to Napa Wine Country-- and Alec had the place to himself.

Studying the blueprints and security system had been no mean feat and these twenty minutes are the culmination of dozens of man hours and months of careful planning.

Alec’s in the zone-- the plan seared onto his memory-- but he can’t keep his thoughts from straying.

To him.

Shaking his head impatiently at himself, he freezes at Isabelle’s hissed warning that sounds in his ear just as a random red laser appears across his path. He's still for sixty full seconds before it disappears and Alec breathes a minute sigh of relief as he resumes his route.

Making the final turn to where the stature is, Alec allows himself a grin. Truth be told, he was getting to old for this shit and he’d been thinking long and hard about getting out of the game. Everything seemed too tame, too stale. There was no fun in it any longer and Alec had amassed a fortune that he could live on for several lifetimes.

He had two more heists to carry out and then Alexander Lightwood, known in certain circles as the shadowhunter, was disappearing into myth and legend as a notorious thief and member of the White Collar’s Top Ten Most Wanted List.

Alec takes one step into the statue room of Aldertree’s mansion and freezes in his tracks.

“Son of a bitch.”

Isabelle is demanding answers through his ear piece but all Alec can focus on is the fucking cupcake sitting right where his prized Hercules and Antaeus statuette should be.

Putting his hands to his hips, Alec lets his head fall back to stare at the ceiling as he closes his eyes and counts to ten.

He gets to four before shaking his head and moving closer to where Magnus Bane had just ruined everything-- again.

“Goddamnit, Magnus,” Alec swears and he doesn’t even startle as a voice sounds behind him.

“You rang?”

Turning around, Alec glares at the man in front of him. He and Magnus had been dancing around each other for years. It had started out with the two of them bumping into each other while casing the same museum and five years later, Alec was more surprised than not when he didn’t run into Magnus during a job.

Alec’s gaze drops down to Magnus’s hands and he swears again, turning the air blue with his exasperation. “That’s my statue, Bane, and you know it.”

“Do I?” Magnus’s eyes narrow as he studies the piece in his hands. His smile is slow and makes Alec’s mouth dry when he continues insouciant, “Finders keepers, darling.”

“I’ve been researching Aldertree for six damn months, Magnus, and I’m not going to let you come in here at the eleventh hour and swipe Hercules and Antaeus right out from under me.”

Magnus doesn’t say anything for a few minutes, clearly thinking before he starts to nod slowly. “You know what, Alexander? You’re right. It is right dastardly of me to take what’s yours with impunity. Maybe-- just this once-- I’ll let you keep your little treasure.”

Immediately suspicious, Alec studies Magnus from where they stand several yards apart. The Gallery is eerily quiet and Alec can’t figure out what’s going on. Magnus has never let him have anything and it doesn’t make sense that he would start now.

“Why,” he asks warily. “Why would you hand a sculpture reputedly worth thirty two million dollars to me without arguing?”

Setting the statue down on the marble floor, the delicate ping of metal against marble is loud in the silence.

Magnus walks closer towards him and Alec can’t quite seem to get his wits about him. Magnus always looks good-- lethal yet elegant-- and tonight is no different. He wears black to distraction and his fitted pants look painted on.

Alec’s mouth waters no matter how many times he calls himself a fucking idiot for being attracted to the only man who’s just as sought after by the feds.

Magnus doesn’t stop until he’s standing right in front of Alec. They’re rarely so close and it’s been a few months since they’ve seen each other-- not since Alec had joined Magnus for a drink at his hideaway bar, The Hunter’s Moon, and warned him that word on the street was that Camille was about to go turncoat against Magnus in exchange for a lighter sentence.

The sharp intake of breath is achingly audible in the empty room and Magnus’s eyes fall down to Alec’s mouth for an earth shattering three seconds before he lifts them back up to meet Alec’s gaze.

“A little birdie told me that you’re going straight, darling.”

Chuckling, Alec’s eyes warm as he grins. “I wouldn’t worry too much about that if I was you, Magnus.”

Magnus immediately understands the hidden innuendo and he laughs too. Alec knows that it’s not his imagination when Magnus leans closer into his space.

“A poor choice of words on my part,” Magnus acknowledges wryly. “In any case, it looks like I won’t be running into you anymore in these dark, secluded spaces. More’s the pity,” Magnus says with an arched brow, “But I’m happy for you, Alexander. I hope that the next chapter of your life-- while frightfully dull and legal-- is just what you want.”

“So-- what? You’re just giving me Hercules and Antaeus because you want to throw me a bone?”

Magnus’s eyes light up and Alec glares at him, watches in amusement as his arch nemesis and greatest thorn in his side, makes a dramatic display of keeping his mouth closed.

Sighing, Magnus reaches for Alec’s chin. His grasp is firm and it’s astonishing how Alec doesn’t feel trapped. Quite the contrary, in fact. It’s absurd, but he feels safe.

“Want to know a secret?” Magnus doesn’t wait for Alec to agree before he’s continuing, “I’m leaving this life behind, too. Really, I’m already done and ready to set up a legitimate business. A night club in Brooklyn,” he confides to Alec who takes the news with a small pang.

“What are you doing here then,” Alec asks, tongue darting out to lick his lips.

“I heard you’d be here tonight and thought I’d give you a send-off. I couldn’t resist having a little fun with you, Alexander. You always make it so easy to ruffle your feathers.”

“So, what’s this? A goodbye?”

Tilting his head, Magnus regards Alec with a warm look, fondness overlaid with something that Alec can’t quite decipher.

“This is whatever you want it to be, darling.” His lips graze the shell of Alec’s ear as he whispers, “Happy Valentine’s Day, darling.”

Letting go of Alec, Magnus takes a step back. Adjusting his ear cuff, he jerks his chin towards the pedestal where the statue had sat and where currently resides a goddamn cupcake.

“I bought that especially for you, you know. Don’t forget it on your way out.”

Magnus is a few feet away when he finally pauses. He doesn’t say anything right away, instead taking the time to study Alec and give him a thorough once over.

His mouth tips up in a grin that barely moves his mouth, even if his eyes are dancing. “I hope I see you around, Alexander. Whatever the case, good luck and best wishes.”

Nodding somberly, Alec replies, “You too, Magnus. Thank you.”

His voice is quiet, trailing off at the end and with a last searing look, Alec turns around and leaves as quietly as he’d appeared.

Alec counts to thirty before he moves and then he goes directly to the pedestal. Once he sees the cupcake in full he laughs-- much louder than he should but he just can’t swallow the sound.

It’s a pink cupcake with swirling frosting. There’s a single candy heart in the middle that reads Cutie Pie.

It’s delightfully cheesy and Alec smiles. In the next minute, however, he sees the small white card underneath and is reaching for it before he even knows what’s happening.

The only thing on the front is his first name and when Alec opens it, there’s nothing but a phone number written in elegant script.

Alec feels butterflies kick at the potential this card represents, at the knowledge that Magnus wanted to continue their acquaintance even if they were both retired and logically, didn’t ever need to talk to each other again.

Sliding the card carefully into his pocket, Alec picks up the cupcake and holds it in a gentle hand while he takes the statue on his way out.

His last job is flawless as always and as promised, the shadowhunter is never heard from again, much to the FBI’s lasting exasperation.

For his part, Alec starts writing a book. It’s several months later when he has the draft to the first in a supposed adventure series about the fictional life of a world-renowned art thief finished. Sitting back in his chair, Alec looks away from the blinking cursor on his laptop screen and his gaze snags on the top drawer of his desk.

Reaching out, Alec slides the drawer open and takes out a pristine white card. He turns it in his hands and debates for a moment before reaching for his phone.

It might be a little late but Alec wonders what Magnus would think about an early-- very early-- Valentine’s Day dinner.

He wonders where one gets candy hearts this time of year.

[thirstyfortom]

Hihihi silly and cute :3 Hope you like this! ^^

MC accidentally confesses through the phone

Zen

 “Jaehee? Hi! So uhm… please just listen and don’t get mad at me, but… that thing I talked the other day about not having feelings for Zen?”

You… were talking about this with Jaehee? For a brief moment, he feels really shy…

And goddamnit, he should say something before you say what should be the correct answer: “I meant it, it would be trouble for him, for his fans, even for myself if I really liked him…” but… he doesn’t want to hear this from you… it would be… hurtful.

“I was lying.” And you just… hang up!!!

Zen keeps staring at his phone. You… you like him? It wasn’t just his imagination?

 After recomposing himself, he smirks, calling you back.

“Oh… hey Zen! What’s up?” “Oh, nothing much, babe, nothing much… so… hey, MC, don’t you just… hate lies?”

“If I hate lies? I… uhm… well, I think most people do…” “Yes, so… I should probably be honest and tell you that you called me instead of Jaehee…” “W-WHAT?”

He muffles a laugh, you sound cute, but he doesn’t want you to feel embarrassed. “I mean… I don’t like lies either, but… I’m really happy that you were lying, babe…”

 And he gave you more honesty when he confessed his feelings for you.

Yoosung

“Oh my God, Seven!  Stop calling me, dude! How many times will I have to admit that yes, I like Yoosung, for you to leave me alone!?”

Humpf, Seven is bothering you too, huh? He is such a- WAIT, WHAT???

 You… you like him? Him, Yoosung Kim? You? You keep blabbering in the phone and your scolding is just… so cute he can’t help but squeal.

“Wait, Seven, you sound… who is this?” “Good… good evening, MC.”

“Yoosung, why do you have Seven’s phone??? No, wait!  Ohhhhh… s-sorry, Yoosung! I… oh my God! I… really need to… I should go!”

 “Wait, MC! Don’t… please, don’t hang up!  Seven is bothering you, do you… do you want me to talk to him?”

“Oh… no, there’s no need. Thank you, Yoosung, but I’ll be fine, I don’t mind Seven’s teasing, I’m just… super embarrassed because I called you by accident.”

 “Ahh, I’m embarrassed too! Since I… I like you too, you know?” “You… you do?”

 “Yeah, I could admit that a million times if you asked me…” he chuckles nervously, relieved you can’t see how much he is blushing.

Boy will definitely ask Seven to leave you alone, just… after he finishes this call with you.

Jaehee

“Zen, what do I do? I just like Jaehee so much!”

Oh… you texted the wrong number, she is already typing that to inform you before she realizes what you just sent.

She would find hilarious that you’re asking Zen to be your wingman if… you didn’t want him to be your wingman because of her!

Or maybe… you didn’t mean it like that… so she sends a reply: “Like her? How?”

“Ah, Zen… don’t play innocent, you know very well! I have a crush and you know that!” Ohhhh… she shouldn’t… she shouldn’t be reading this.

 “I didn’t know, but I’m surprised Zen does…” “You’re talking in the 3rd person now, Zen?” she giggles, but she’s slightly worried about how long I will take for you to notice…

It doesn’t take long… “OH MY GOD! I SENT TO THE WRONG NUMBER, SORRY JAEHEE SORRY!!!” “It’s fine, MC. Did you have wine, by any chance?”

 “Nope, I’m sober.”  Oh… this makes her heart race and her face heat up, so… you really mean it, right?

“I see… would you like to come over so we can have a few drinks and talk?”

You never really answered to this, well, there was no need when you showed up to her door.

Jumin

“Look, Zen, thought you should hear from me first: I like Jumin for real. Please don’t freak out, okay?”

It takes a few seconds for him to understand your call.

And though it shouldn’t be directed to him, he is not freaking out.

He is confused, flattered, maybe a little flustered, but he’s not freaking out.

“I’m very impressed that you can say such a thing so casually. You never fail to amuse me, MC.”

 “Oh, and you called the wrong person, by the way.”

“Oh my God! I’m so sorry, Jumin! Please just ignore this.” “My apologies, but I don’t think I can, MC.”

“Are you mad?” “Hardly… I think we should talk in person, MC.”

He smiles softly, imagining how cute you must look right now.

“There’s no need to… ‘freak out’, I like you too. See you soon.”

Saeyoung

 “Yoosung, you can’t tell anybody about that thing with Saeyoung, okay? This is our secret! OxO”

He grins mischievously. What are you and Yoosung up to?

Curious boy is curious… he smirks as he types mindlessly. “I won’t, MC. But you know… what if Saeyoung could read our texts?”

 “Then it would be embarrassing, just imagine if he reads that I like him.” He doesn’t have to…

JESUS FUCKING CHRIST! You… you like him? No, it can’t be, you’re joking! You’re making fun of Yoosung! It’s not possible that you actually…

“He’d think it’s a prank…” “Ahhh, I hope he wouldn’t, I just like him so much…”

Nope, you’re not pulling a prank… god… this is embarrassing, more for him than for you tbh

“I like you too…” it just slips out of his fingers, ugh… “Yoosung!? I just told you I like someone else…” and then a few seconds later “OH MY GOD! WRONG PERSON!”

 “Really? I think you sent it just right, MC” he laughs at the string of angry emojis you send him.

“And fyi, I wasn’t joking either, I really like you.”

Jihyun

“Sorry to bother you, Jumin. Thanks for listening to me yesterday, and if you don’t mind, please don’t tell Jihyun, okay?”

He reads the text, a little confused.

Immediately types that you got the wrong person, but before he presses “Send”… what is that about?

 Not telling Jihyun? Thanks for listening? Oh… could it be that… you and Jumin are…? Well, that’s surprising, he never thought you… would be interested in someone like Jumin.

 He’s happy for his friend, sure…. But uhm… when did this start, exactly? And… why was he not supposed to know? Could it be that you know he has feelings for you and would rather not hurt him?

“Wrong person, MC. But don’t worry, I understand. Good luck to you and Jumin J” “Jihyun!? Sorry… but what do you mean?”

 “If you’re seeing Jumin, I’m happy for you both, MC.” “SEEING JUMIN? OMG NO!”

He would laugh at your immediate answer if it didn’t confuse him even more.

“I mean, he’s great, and he gave me some good advice on how to approach you…” “Approach me? For what?”

“I think it would be better if I confess my feelings for you in person, don’t you?” He makes a mental note on buying Jumin some wine as a thanking gift.

Saeran

“To do list: 1-Laundry 2-Buy coconut oil 3 – Fix the lamp in the bedroom 4 – Confess feelings to Saeran??? Maybe???”

He squints his eyes reading your text. WTF??? Oh… he remembers from the time he hacked into your stuff about this habit of sending texts to yourself to remind you of the chores of the day, it’s still as lame and amusing as it was back then…

He calls you to ask about it, this is just the excuse he needed to hear your voice today…

“Hey, Saeran? What’s up?” “You tell me, what was that text about?” “What text?” “The one you sent me.”

“I didn’t send you anything…” “Yes, you did. What is coconut oil for, by the way?” “Uh oh…”

 Uh oh? What is going on? “Uhm… I think I sent you a draft that was on my notes by accident… Can you… can you ignore it?”

 “I can try, but seriously, what is coconut oil for?” you explain to him, and he can tell you’re super nervous…

“Okay. Can I come over and help you with items 1 and 3 in your list?”

Not as nervous as him trying to take the initiative

“Uhm… sure.” “G-Good, then we can talk about uhm… the number 4?”

[redditnosleep]

Has Anyone Heard of The Left/Right Game?

 oby NeonTempo

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 (Final)

Hi Guys,

Sorry it’s taken a while to get this posted up. I’ve been busy chasing leads with US missing persons.

I won’t waste more of your time. Log is below. If you have any information then please send it my way.

Thanks for your help guys, it means a lot.

The Left/Right Game [DRAFT 1] 12/02/2017

Silence used to be an absolute.

That’s something I definitely miss.

Back in the real world, it would stand as self-evident that a group of people saying absolutely nothing, by definition, could not be saying any less. Maybe things are different on the road, maybe I’d just never encountered it before, but it’s clear to me now there are degrees beyond silence. A pervasive realm of deafening quiet which, following the loss of Eve and Apollo, our group has unreservedly embraced. Constructed out of our collective trauma, cemented with a cruel mixture of grief, guilt, and harrowing self-doubt, it quickly becomes apparent that this silence is stronger than all of us. The challenge of breaking it remains unmet for the rest of the journey.

We spend the next few hours burrowing through a featureless corridor of maize. The stalks rise far above the Wrangler, leaving only a thin strip of clear sky visible like the painted ceiling of a renaissance church. I find myself glancing intermittently at the CB radio, half expecting, half hoping, for Apollo’s voice to crackle through the speaker, bringing words of comfort, or a much needed attempt at levity.

After I catch myself staring at the radio for the fifth time, I decide it might be best to get on with my work. I plug my headphones into my notebook, bring up the audio files I’ve recorded thus far, and set about creating a very rough cut of our first day on the road.

APOLLO (VO) Everybody knows Rob, Rob's the god! Ahaha

I listen through Apollo’s first interview, making notes for the closing paragraph I’ll now be forced to write about him. When I have everything I need, I listen to the interview again, and then once more. It’s not lost on me that I just want to hear his voice, to lose myself in a pleasant digital echo, far removed from the frantic screams that followed him into the asphalt.

I listen to Eve’s interview next. She bristles with excitement as she talks about her upcoming visit to Roswell, steadfastly attempting to recruit me to the effort. She had no idea what she was heading into when she stepped out onto Rob’s front lawn. Then again none of us did.

The thin strip of sky is turning deep orange as I reach our encounter with the hitchhiker. It’s chilling to hear his voice after the fact, to revisit the conniving, veiled pleasantries he employed against us. I cringe as I hear Rob’s hand grasp my arm, ashamed that I let myself fall for the hitcher’s trickery.

ROB (VO): You did good, I’m sorry for grabbin’ you. I just didn’t want you to do something you’d regret.

AS (VO): No it’s fine. I was going to. Do you know what happens if you talk to him?

ROB (VO): Not sure. Came close myself once, a few years back. The way he looks at you when he thinks he’s got you? I don’t think I wanna know.

AS (VO): Rob, I-

I pause the audio file, clicking back ten seconds before pressing play again.

AS (VO): No it’s fine. I was going to. Do you know what happens if you talk to him?

ROB (VO): Not sure. Came close myself once, a few years back. The way he looks at you when he thinks he’s-

I certainly didn’t notice that at the time. I’d been so shaken by my run in with the hitcher, and so curious about the abandoned car that I’d been completely blind to anything else that had come my way. Maybe Rob misspoke, maybe he meant to say weeks or months. But if it wasn’t a mistake, if it was a truth carelessly uttered, then Rob has some explaining to do.

The Left/Right Game was posted online in June 2016, less than a year ago.

I glance sideways at him, a wall of corn rushing past us as we approach the rest stop. Throughout this trip, every emotion Rob’s displayed has seemed genuine. The sadness, the anger, the concern. They tell a story of a man who cares deeply about the welfare of those around him. Yet at the same time, it’s strikingly clear that there’s something he isn’t telling me.

With every new piece of the puzzle, the car, the text message, the faceless creature with the ringing phone, I’m left with the dilemma of when to confront Rob Guthard with what I know. I feel I’ve gathered enough to bring before him, enough to demand an explanation, but there’s no way I’d be able to truly verify his answer. I have a collection of strange and perplexing notions, lacking in the common thread that could bring me to any workable conclusion. If I am going to confront Rob, I need to uncover that thread. Much like the greatest journalists of our time, I should know the answer before I ask the question.

The jeep pulls up onto a large green space. Staring straight ahead, I find myself puzzled by the way the ground seems to stop, as if the horizon lies only twenty metres away from the car. As soon as the engine cuts out, I unbuckle my seatbelt, climb out and walk towards the grassy verge. The rest of the convoy pulls up behind me as I go.

I stop a few steps short of the edge, realising we’ve found our way to the top of a sheer cliff. A sudden swaying vertigo takes over, forcing me to take a few steps back. It doesn’t feel like we’ve been heading uphill, the road has been level since Jubilation, yet somehow I’m standing at the edge of a 400 ft. rock face, descending straight downwards, the distant earth shrouded by stalks of corn.

That’s the truly strange thing about this monolithic precipice. On either side of me, the maize runs to the very edge of the cliff and, at its base, the endless harvest continues until it stretches beyond the darkening horizon in every direction. It feels like I’m standing on the cliffs of Dover, staring over a golden ocean, its waves governed by the evening breeze. I wonder for a moment where it ends, then, taking consideration of the world I now occupy, I start to wonder if it ever does.

A belligerent scream rips me from the view. The source of the noise is blocked by the Wrangler and the first thing I see as I circle around are the shocked, wide eyed faces of Bonnie & Clyde. Once I make my way past the Wrangler’s hood, my expression mimics theirs.

Lilith has pinned Bluejay up to the side of the Jeep, a locked forearm pressing her chest against the door. Her other arm has been grasped in Bluejay’s hands, desperately stopped before it can strike her across the face. The two of them yell through gritted teeth as Lilith struggles furiously against her, vying to cause her any conceivable harm.

BLUEJAY Get the fuck off me you bitch! Get off!

I take a few quick steps over to Lilith as Bluejay attempts to kick her away.

AS: Lilith, we can’t do this… Jen…

Lilith doesn’t even register my presence as she continues her assault, deafened by the bubbling vitriol in every growling breath.

AS: Jen! We are not doing this now. Not after-

Before I can comprehend what’s happening, I’m staring at the sky, my head knocked back by the force of Lilith’s flailing elbow. A hot, raw ache radiates across my lower lip as I stagger back, raising my hand over my mouth.

Before Lilith can continue her assault, Rob swings open his door and takes two short strides over to her. He puts one arm around the girl’s waist and picks her up, carrying her safely, but firmly, over to Bonnie & Clyde’s Ford, and planting her back on the ground.

I seem to always forget how strong he is.

ROB: Damnit this is not the time.

LILITH: Take it back!

Bluejay has lost her usual snide demeanour, yet her aura still radiates an unbridled scorn. In response to Lilith’s demand, Bluejay walks back to her car and sits on the hood. She takes the Marlboros out of her pocket along with her lighter, and ignites a cigarette. I imagine the burning embers are the only company she’s comfortable to accept right now.

By the time I look back to the rest of the group, Lilith has stormed away.

AS: What did she say?

BONNIE: I didn’t hear it all.

AS: What did she say Bonnie?

BONNIE: I heard something about… she said Lilith was… that we were complicit.

ROB: Ah goddamnit… Bristol can you…

I watch Lilith, as she sits on the grass and looks over the cliffside. She begins to cry, yet I get a strong notion that it’s not something I should interrupt. It feels like something between her and Eve, a final act of reactionary mourning reserved for them, and them alone.

AS: Yeah… don’t worry. I’ll handle it.

ROB: Ok. I’ll cook us somethin’ up.

An hour passes. Lilith grows slowly calmer, drifting from cathartic release into a cold, wordless melancholy. Finishing up my dinner, I make my way over to her.

AS: It’s a strange view.

Lilith looks up at me. Her face falls.

LILITH: I cut you… I’m so sorry.

AS: It’s fine. You should see the other girl.

LILITH: Hah, yeah, I bet she looks like shit right about now.

I help myself down onto the cool ground, staring alongside Lilith into the ocean below.

LILITH: Bluejay thinks I’m complicit… in what happened to Eve.

AS: I heard.

LILITH: She used to think we were morons, now she thinks we’re all in on it… doesn’t make sense.

AS: I think she he has to believe this place is a lie. She needs it to make sense, and the harder it gets for her to rationalise the more she... Anyway, she shouldn’t have said what she said. She’s just... I guess the word is "troubled".

LILITH: She’s a fucking thundercunt.

AS: Umm… uh… ok.

LILITH: She’s right though... I killed her... and I killed Apollo too.

I look to Lilith, concerned, not quite sure what she means. Her eyes remain locked on the impossible horizon.

LILITH: Sarah… she wasn’t cut out for this, and she knew it. She wanted us to turn back this morning… but I didn’t want to.

AS: That wasn’t just your decision Lilith.

LILITH: Yes it was. She uh… she followed my lead. Always. Through everything. And I knew why she was doing it. I knew. But I let it continue, because it was convenient, because it was easy…. because deep down I liked having someone around who… who’d jump through fucking hoops for me… god it’s so fucked.

Lilith rests her head in her hands.

LILITH: She was weak. She was anxious and shy and… but that should be ok, right? You’re allowed to be weak that’s… but I made her come here. I dragged someone who couldn’t swim into the fucking deep end. And the last thing I did was lie to her and she fucking knew it.

Lilith takes a few deep, frayed breaths.

AS: What do you mean?

LILITH: I’m not uh… I didn’t, I… I loved her, you know as a… as a friend. It was always this fucking one-way street and… I don’t think she minded but. Then suddenly she’s vanishing right in-fucking-front of me and she said what she said… I mean how else was I supposed to respond to that? I had to say it back right?

Lilith maintains her composure as a steady stream of tears roll down her cheek.

AS: I don’t know what I’d do in that situation.

LILITH: I could see it in her eyes that she didn’t believe me. Fuck… I wonder how many people have died while being told like… comforting lies. How many of them fucking knew?

AS: I think you did the best you could Jen. I think you did better than most.

LILITH: You don’t need to tell me that just… are you tired? Do you need to go to bed soon?

AS: No, I don’t need to.

LILITH: There are some beers in uh… in Apollo’s bag. Is that like… looting? Or is that ok?

AS: I think he’d want us to have them, as long as he got a toast.

Lilith laughs briefly and finally smiles. She walks over to Bonnie and Clyde’s car, returning a moment later with a four pack.

We spend the next hour and a half slowly drinking them. Lilith can’t muster the right words for a toast so we just say thank you to Apollo, raising out cans to the open air. We talk about his tireless humour, his attempts to keep us all up during our first night on the road, how caringly he spoke to everyone, even at the edge of death.

We talk about Eve as well, about the pair’s misadventures, awkward college parties and the future of Paranormicon. Lilith smiles, and tells me there’s always a place for me once radio dies out.

After everything that’s happened on the road, the night can’t help but feel bittersweet. But for once, on a solitary cliff side in the middle of nowhere, it’s more sweet than it is bitter. That may not be much, but at the end of an awful day it’s more than either of us could have hoped for.

The next morning goes quickly. It’s amazing how efficient a group of people can be when none of them feel like talking. Not only that, but breakfast has become a noticeably brief affair. I manage to get through half a bag of trail mix before I find myself uncomfortably full. Rob’s words about the road’s sustaining properties ring in my ears as I look around the group. Everyone leaves their bowls half empty. Lilith hasn’t eaten a bite.

By this point, the launch protocol has been drilled into us. Despite our preoccupations, and the fractious rifts developing between us, the cars line up like clockwork as they merge onto the road. In fact, the mood of the group seems strangely procedural. All radio contact starts with the stating of a call sign, followed by that of the recipient. The cars maintain an even, careful distance between one another. We’ve seen all too clearly what happens when the rules are neglected, and no one wants to take chances any more.

AS: How far away are we?

ROB: From where?

AS: You haven’t got to the end of this road right? I mean… you’re still charting it?

ROB: That’s right.

AS: Well, how long until we get to… you know to… uncharted territory?

ROB: To be honest, not too long.

AS: What’s going to happen once we reach that point?

ROB: We’re gonna keep drivin’.

AS: Until we get to the end?

ROB: That’s the plan. You know I won’t judge you if you wanna turn around. I’m sure you can talk someone into it.

AS: Could I talk you into it?

Rob smiles.

ROB: ‘Fraid not. This trip ain’t like the others. Road’s kickin’ back like never before. I think it knows I’m comin’ all the way this time.

AS: … What is this place Rob?

Rob sighs as he slowly takes the next left on a quiet, rural T-junction.

ROB: I think it’s a stray thread… runnin’ off the spool.

The radio crackles.

BONNIE: Rob you just took the wrong turn.

An instant drum of fresh panic hammers in my chest. I stare at Rob, and he stares right back. I know he’s feeling the same thing I am, though he’s doing a much better job of keeping it off his face.

He thinks carefully for a moment.

ROB: No… no. I been down this road before. We took a right last time.

AS: Uhhh… yeah. Yes. The turn before this one was a right, I remember.

ROB: Ferryman to all cars. Thanks Bonnie for giving us the fright of our lives. We’re on the righ… we’re on the correct road.

BONNIE: No no that can’t be its… that’s wrong… Martin tell them…

CLYDE: Our mistake Rob, let’s keep going.

LILITH: Bristol…

There’s concern in Lilith’s voice. I lean over to my wing mirror, attempting to gauge the atmosphere in the car behind me. There’s clearly some commotion between Bonnie and Clyde, with the latter attempting to gently remove the walkie talkie from his sister’s hands.

There’s something else however. Past Bonnie & Clyde. Past Bluejay. An old, dilapidated road sign made of weathered timber stands by the side of the road behind us. I can’t read all of it as the peeling letters grow ever smaller, but I can piece together what it probably once said.

“Wintery Bay – 5 Miles”

BONNIE: We’re going to turn around right?

AS: Uhh one second Bonnie, I’ll… check the map.

I promptly switch off the radio.

AS: Are we not passing through Wintery Bay?

Rob turns to me, a puzzled look in his eyes.

ROB: Through where?

In the wake of those two, innocently inquiring words, my mind reels back to the morning of our third day on the road. Watching Bonnie and Clyde wander over to Rob to confess their transgressions with the hitchhiker, the quiet conversation that passed between them, Rob’s seemingly comforting response. I’d felt wretched in those moments. A few minutes prior I had tricked and deceived Clyde… yet I’d never once considered he might have done the same to me.

AS: Is it safe to pull over?

ROB: What? Why?

AS: Is it safe Rob?

ROB: Uh, yeah should be.

AS: Then pull over.

I switch the radio back on and grab the receiver. As I make a connection to Bonnie and Clyde’s car, it’s clear that an argument is brewing. Lilith is asking for me, a helpless passenger, caught in the middle of something she doesn’t understand.

AS: Bristol to all cars. We’re stopping up ahead.

Rob seems acutely aware that I’m not messing around. As soon as we roll to a halt, I throw my door open and jump onto the dusty roadside, striding over to the rest of the convoy, who are just starting to get out of their own cars. I’m conscious of a driving anger behind each step I take.

AS: You didn’t tell him.

CLYDE: Bristol, I…

ROB: What’s goin’ on Bristol?

Rob’s marches up behind me, more than a little restless to get a grip on my motives.

AS: Clyde?

Clyde looks around a circle of expectant eyes. When he delivers his answer, he’s unable to meet any of them.

CLYDE: Bonnie… Bonnie talked to the hitchhiker.

Rob’s expression shifts, his confusion degrading into a solemn understanding.

ROB: God… ahh Goddamnit. You knew about this Bristol?

AS: I told them to tell you the morning of the third day. I saw them go over to you I… I thought they did.

CLYDE: Bonnie… thought you’d… turn us around.

ROB: Well she’s was damn right. You seen what happens when the rules get broken. You shoulda told me as soon as you saw me and headed right back home.

CLYDE: That was before Ace… before everything. I didn’t know this place was-

ROB: The rules are the rules Clyde! Is anything even wrong with Bonnie? You said she gets confused... was that a lie?

Clyde doesn’t answer, avoiding Rob’s glare. As I process what Rob’s just said, I have to say I’m surprised by the deviousness of the two siblings.

When I thought they were telling Rob about the hitchhiker, it appears they’d instead told him that Bonnie was, to some degree, senile. It was a simple lie, but one that would adequately explain her odd behaviour, draw sympathy from Rob and, most ingeniously, prevent him from telling me about their conversation. A truth buried beneath an unpleasant lie, its subject matter just uncomfortable enough to head off any chance of discussion.

Still, it leaves a bad taste in my mouth.

CLYDE: We can head home if you want.

BONNIE: No.

The group turns to Bonnie. She speaks in a tone more decisive than I thought her capable.

BONNIE: He... the hitchhiker... he was talking about a… about the village we just passed. I was looking forward to seeing it, that’s all. I’m ok really.

AS: You’ve been talking about it a lot Bonnie.

BONNIE: It just sounded like a lovely place, I was sad that we passed it by. I’m sorry for worrying everyone. Please don’t make us turn around Rob.

Rob stares at them both. His position has been made crystal clear.

ROB: We’re stopping a little early today. Come the rest of the way with us, rest up… then tomorrow you both go home. You should count yourselves lucky you get the chance to turn around.

Rob marches back to the Wrangler, signalling that the discussion is over.

ROB: Lilith, you’re with us.

Lilith doesn't even try to hide her relief as she shuffles away from Bonnie & Clyde and climbs into the back of the Jeep. It’s a little heart warming that Rob still has the awareness to look out for her, angry as he may be.

As well as his surprising strength, I also tend to forget how perceptive he can be.

Bonnie, Clyde and Bluejay climb back into their respective vehicles. I catch Bonnie’s eye, the moment before she returns to the Ford. She appears truly disappointed, but otherwise resigned to keep going, satisfied to let Wintery Bay fade into the distance. It’s comforting to hear that she’s ready to put the place behind her.

It’s just a pity I don’t believe a word of it.

LILITH: It was fucking weird Bristol.

Lilith seems happy to be in the Wrangler, enjoying the sense of security the modded behemoth affords, and also greatly relieved to be away from Bonnie & Clyde. She’s spent the last five minutes detailing the thirty second argument that unfolded between them, charting its disturbing nuances as well as it’s eerie conclusion.

LILITH: ... but I swear she was basically like crying like… she didn’t understand how we could be going the wrong way. But then like, as soon as you pulled us over and she just stopped. Like I mean… stopped.

AS: That must have been disconcerting.

LILITH: You have no idea... So Rob, when are these cornfields gonna fucking end?

ROB: Soon. We’re gonna rest up for the night in a few turns. Then tomorrow it won’t be long until we’re on a track through the woods.

LILITH: The fucking woods? Are you kidding? Are we talking like… Sleepy Hollow bleeding trees or what?

ROB: Hah, wish I could tell ya.

LILITH: Wait, what do you mean?

ROB: I ain’t been that far yet. It’s new territory.

LILITH: Oh… great. Maybe the cornfields aren’t so…

Lilith goes quiet, transfixed by something in the rear view mirror, before quickly turning around to get a better look out of the back window.

The car behind us is out of control.

Bonnie is fighting to wrest the steering wheel from her brother. The Ford swerves erratically behind us, driven mad by the dynamic power struggle taking place inside it. Rob sharply accelerates out of the way as the car behind lurches drunkenly to and fro before skidding to a shuddering halt. Rob hits the brake hard, and by the time I’ve turned in his direction, he’s already slammed the door of the Wrangler, storming across the tarmac to Bonnie and Clyde.

ROB: Cut the engine!

The Ford’s engine goes silent and in the absence of its rumbling growl, new sounds emerge. The sounds of a struggle, and of wild desperate screaming.

Stepping out of the car for the second time today, I jump onto the road and cover the distance between us.

Rob is attempting to pull a screeching Bonnie from the car. Even with his impressive strength it seems to be a challenge. Bonnie claws at the walls, trying with all her might to regain her grasp on the steering wheel.

BONNIE: Please! PLEASE! Let me go! Let me go!

Rob extracts Bonnie from the car and attempts to subdue her amidst a flurry of flailing hands and elbows. She writhes and kicks as he pins her arms to her sides.

AS: Bonnie! Bonnie. Calm down ok? Let’s talk this through.

BONNIE: He told me it was on our way! He said we’d pass through!

ROB: He lied Bonnie.

BONNIE: No… no we’re going the wrong way. We’re going the wrong way!

Bonnie lashes out again, striking at Rob’s legs with her own. Rob holds her firmly, hit teeth gritted through every impact.

It’s clear that Bonnie isn’t going to let up. I run back to the Wrangler and open up the trunk. After a few moments of rummaging through my bag, I find the first aid kit and pull out an unopened pack of white zip ties.

AS: Clyde, open the back door.

Rob sees me standing with the zip ties. Even in the midst of Bonnie’s incessant struggle, he looks at me with an almost questioning air, as if he’s wondering how we ever arrived at this point. As if he’s asking whether we can really do what I’m wordlessly suggesting.

Bonnie answers the last question for him. In the slim few seconds of distraction, she slams her head back into his nose, eliciting a disgustingly loud thud and a pained growl from Rob. Dazed and confused, his nose immediately fountaining blood, Rob manages to keep his arms wrapped around her. But it’s clear this isn’t going to be sustainable, and that she isn’t anywhere close to calming down.

Clyde has opened the door, stepping back and looking on like a frightened child as we carry Bonnie over to the back seat of the Ford. I lean in before him, adjusting the headrest until it’s pressed against the ceiling, ensuring that it can’t be removed from the bracket. I then loop a zip tie around each bracket and fasten them.

BLUEJAY: What the fuck is going on?

Bluejay has stepped out of her car, making her way towards us. I realise that, to someone who is fighting to not believe in any of this, the following scene would appear at best as a melodramatic farce, and at worst, as the attempted detention of an innocent and distressed woman.

Sadly, I don’t have time to field her questions. I climb into the car. Bonnie working constantly against us as Rob eases her in after me, his hand on her head to prevent it bumping against the top of the doorframe.

Once she’s inside, I loop a second zip tie around the one I’ve already fastened on the right bracket, forcing her right hand inside it. I pull the plastic tab over the sleeve of her jumper.

I hope it’s not too tight, but at the very least it’s secure enough to keep her in place. Bonnie continues to pull against the zip ties, but it’s clear her strength has been sapped from her spirited battle with Rob.

Not quite able to look her in the eye, I push a pile of luggage out of the way and climb out the other side of the Ford. Rob and I are both getting our breath back, the former pinching his nose and adjusting stoically to the fresh pain.

BLUEJAY: Hey what the fuck are… you’re not going to leave her like that are you?

AS: Get back in your car Bluejay.

I walk back to the Wrangler, tuning out Denise’s coarse protests. Rob reaches into the Jeep’s still open trunk, and pulls out a pile of blankets and pillows. In the rear view mirror, I can see him placing them on Bonnie’s lap, giving her a place to rest her elbows.

She leans her forehead against the back of the headrest. Even with her face blocked from view, I can tell that she’s crying.

We arrive at the rest stop some twenty minutes later, the vague outline of a deep green forest blooming on the horizon. It’s earlier in the day than we would usually stop. Rob tells us he wants the entirety of tomorrow to chart the woods, as well as good time to turn back before night fall should the need arise. I’m not complaining, I’m glad of the chance to rest up following today’s events.

For the rest of the day, we take it in turns to keep an eye on Bonnie, making sure she has everything she needs. When the Ford pulled up alongside us, Lilith, Rob, and I expected to see a quivering wreck, tugging ceaselessly against her bonds. We were all surprised, and more than a little disturbed, to find her smiling. By the time my turn comes around, the sun is already dipping in the sky. Rob has prepared a small pot of miso soup in case anyone can bring themselves to eat. I finish my bowl, all too aware of how unnecessary each meal now feels, and pour out a helping for Bonnie.

I find her in good spirits.

BONNIE: How are you doing Alice?

AS: I’m fine. How are you doing Linda?

BONNIE: I’m ok. Sorry for giving you all such a fright earlier. I feel terrible.

AS: It’s fine honestly. I’m sorry about… about all this.

I gesture to the zip tied restraints. Rob has reapplied them, fastening bandages underneath the straps to afford Bonnie a modicum of comfort. Still the scene rings with a sinister barbarity which no kind consideration can make up for.

BONNIE: It’s ok. I wasn’t myself.

AS: I brought you soup. I know you might not be hungry.

BONNIE: No no I’d love some, thank you. Everyone’s being so lovely.

AS: Well, we just want to make sure you’re alright.

I submerge the spoon, drench up a measure of warm broth, and begin to raise it towards her.

BONNIE: Oh no you don’t have to… I can feed myself…

She gestures to her bound hands, the clear implication hanging in the air.

AS: No I… I don’t mind. I think it’s-

Bonnie throws her weight sideways, her elbow jabbing outwards and hitting the bowl out of my hands. Soup spills over my fleece, just a little cooler than scolding hot, and soaks immediately into the fabric. I back away reflexively, and watch Bonnie’s expression flicker like a faulty lightbulb from kind tranquility to utter, burning contempt. It’s gone as quickly as it appears, just in time for the rest of the group to look our way.

BLUEJAY: What are you doing with her?!

Bluejay storms across from her car, angrily drawing from a Marlboro and forcing the smoke draconically back into the air.

AS: Nothing. Just an accident.

BONNIE: It’s ok Bluejay, it was my mistake.

BLUEJAY: Did she get any on you?

Bluejay leans in placing her hand comfortingly on Bonnie’s, before turning to fix me with a murderous stare. It’s almost impressive how, even when caring for someone, Bluejay still manages to be simultaneously venomous to those around her.

BONNIE: No no it’s ok it was my fault. It’s fine. I’m sorry for causing trouble.

Bluejay laughs at Bonnie’s submissive apology, unable to believe what she's thinking. Her eyes remain fixed on me.

BLUEJAY: You’re a fucking coward. Look what he’s making you do. Look!

My eyes follow where she gestures. I have to admit the helpless figure of Bonnie, restrained in the back seat of the Ford, rings with an innate inhumanity, and being forced to stare my actions in the face makes me feel utterly ghoulish.

The choices I’ve made must seem insane to Bluejay, but that doesn’t mean hers are not. Despite her pretensions of rationality, I can’t help but feel that Bluejay’s actions are simply being governed by a different insanity. An insanity borne out of the desperate need to explain the unexplainable, which has morphed into an ugly cocktail of paranoia, self-grandeur, and fervent antagonism.

Bluejay notes my silent expression, most likely taking it as a personal victory. Without another word she returns to her car and shuts herself inside, festering silently and alone.

BONNIE: Do you want to know what’s wonderful Alice?

Bonnie leans towards me, lowering her voice so no one else can hear.

BONNIE: He told me there’s a house… waiting for me. My home by the sea.

AS: I’m sorry Bonnie. I don’t think there is.

BONNIE: It’s going to be a such a beautiful place. Such a beautiful place.

Bonnie flashes me a broad grin.

BONNIE: It’s been lovely knowing you Alice.

Bonnie turns away from me, placing her forehead back on the headrest. The grin doesn’t fade as I turn away. I walk back to the Wrangler, faced with the choice of changing into new clothes or my thermal pyjamas.

After removing my fleece and lying down for a just a moment, I end up sleeping in the clothes I’m wearing.

When I wake up, the Wrangler is moving.

The air mattress reverberates and my body rocks as we make a sharp U-turn. I sit bolt upright, Lilith waking up next to me, similarly bleary eyed and confused.

Rob is behind the wheel. The gear stick shakes as he transports us down the road at incredible speed.

AS: Rob what’s happening?

ROB: Bonnie got herself free. She’s headed for the turn.

I pull myself into the passenger seat, suddenly wide awake.

LILITH: What? How did she get free?

AS: Is she with Clyde?

ROB: She hit him over the head, dragged him outta the car. I couldn’t wait for him, but he’s catchin’ up.

Lilith and I turn around. Bluejay’s car is gaining on us, a distant pair of high beams steadily drowning the rear window in light.

LILITH: Why’s Bluejay helping him?

AS: She probably wants to keep an eye on us. Rob, do you think we’ll catch up with Bonnie?

ROB: I’m workin’ on it.

The Wrangler continues to rocket through the darkness. We keep our eyes fixed forward, scanning the very edge of the horizon for any sign of Bonnie’s Ford.

When Bluejay pulls alongside us, I get a look at the pair. Bluejay is nought but steely determination, dedicated to reaching Bonnie before we do. Clyde looks mortified, rocked by his sister’s actions, a small contusion on his head to mark her vicious betrayal.

Rob screeches to a halt once we arrive at the junction. Bluejay’s headlights are already illuminating the road to Wintery Bay, and Rob’s lighting rig coats the entire area in an artificial twilight. In the middle of it all, we see Bonnie, standing next to her car, smiling.

She’s already beyond the threshold of the turn.

CLYDE: Linda! Linda, please… come on back now, ok?

BONNIE: You can all come with me. There’s a place for all of us. He told me. There’s a place for everyone.

CLYDE: Please Linda. You have to come back.

A strange trail of black dust is streaming off Bonnie’s skin, rising into the air and dancing in the breeze. After a moment, it becomes clear that the edges of Bonnie are slowly degrading, converting quietly into dark ash and drifting into the atmosphere.

BONNIE: I love you very much Martin. You’re always welcome.

CLYDE: No please… please.

Bonnie turns around and climbs into the car. Without looking back, she pulls away down the road to Wintery Bay. The trail of black particles rise from the Ford as she goes, with greater and greater volume as the entire car starts to wither away before our eyes. Less than a minute later the Ford, with Bonnie inside it, gradually dissolves into dust and scatters to the winds.

Clyde doesn't speak. His entire being is quiet. Lilith immediately runs back to the Wrangler. Rob waits a while, staring at he dancing cloud of dust, before putting his arm around Clyde and gently escorting him to the Jeep.

As I turn away from the road to Wintery Bay, I take note of Bluejay’s reaction. She looks absolutely petrified, more so than I’ve ever seen her. She impulsively removes the pack of Marlboros from her pocket and holds them in her hands, before quickly returning them, unsmoked.

The night passes slowly after we return to the rest stop. All of us are exhausted, and more than willing to surrender to the escapism of sleep. Rob rests in the driver’s seat, giving up his space on the air mattress to Clyde. Everyone drops quickly enough into a quiet slumber, leaving me awake with only my thoughts for company. I find myself thinking of Bluejay, of how she could possibly hope to rationalise the disintegration of Bonnie and her car.

I wonder how I’d feel if the Left/Right Game were exposed as some unparalleled magic trick. Would I feel foolish? No I don’t think so. Impressed, maybe. Relieved? Most definitely. In fact, the more I think about it, the more I miss the innocent days when I believed the game was a hoax. I suppose I see why Bluejay is so adamant about dismissing this place; trickery however elaborate is almost always a preferable alternative to genuine horror.

The Jeep’s door opens and shuts

Part of me tries to ignore it, to wash my hands of any other developments in this harrowing night. However, exiled as I am from the kingdom of sleep, I slowly find myself sitting up, quietly putting on my boots, and letting myself out.

I step out into the cool night, observing the figure before me.

AS: Where are you going Clyde?

Clyde turns to face me, I initially interpret the look he gives me as one of resignation, but the word doesn’t quite fit. Resignation is a defeat, the world exacting compliance from you against your own wishes. But the man before me is as calm as the night air around him. His wishes are clearly his own. There’s no defeat in his eyes, but something else entirely… peace, maybe.

CLYDE: You know where I’m going Alice.

Clyde speaks softly, a quiet conviction behind every word he says. I briefly glance towards the Wrangler, wondering if I’m really equipped to handle this on my own.

CLYDE: Don’t call Rob. I made a mistake coming back to the rest stop. I shouldn’t have done... please. Just let me go.

AS: Clyde, just wait for tomorrow ok? He’ll understand. He’ll turn us around and take you home.

CLYDE: It won't be home anymore.

Clyde’s gentle stare renders me silent.

CLYDE: Linda had a husband once. He was a good man. Died young. She could never bring herself to go looking again and I… I never found who I was looking for. We’ve been by each other’s side for sixty years. Sixty years. I gotta be honest, even after all we’ve been through, everything you and I have seen, I never felt like I was in a new world until now.

AS: I don’t think I can’t let you do this Clyde.

CLYDE: I’m sorry Alice, but it’s not up to you.

Clyde breathes in the cool night air, exhaling through his nose.

CLYDE: I yelled at her to come back, when she ran off to rob that ice cream parlour. I kept calling out and calling out. I spent so much energy trying to get her to come back to me. After a while I realised she wasn’t coming back… that I’d have to follow her. I should’ve realised it earlier. That’s all I can do.... follow where she goes.

Clyde looks at me, almost apologetically.

CLYDE: Goodbye Alice.

He turns away from the convoy and wanders back down the road.

AS: Clyde.

He turns around one last time.

AS: Do you want company?

It takes roughly an hour for us to walk back to the junction. In the time we have, I’m treated to the story of Bonnie and Clyde. The warmest fragments of their life together, the moments that built them, the waves that rocked them and the places they once called home. I don’t think I’ll ever agree with what Clyde is doing, but the more he talks, the more I understand.

His stories span more than half a century, supported by a transient cast of acquaintances and friends, but at the core of each tale is a pair of siblings who meant the world to one another. The pair existed as two relative souls, quantifiable only in relation to each other. In the absence of one, the remnant was indefinable. A drifting point, unanchored in space.

The story ends just as we reach the junction

AS: I hope she's out there.

CLYDE: I hope so too. Thank you for coming with me, I know it’s late.

AS: No… it’s never a bad time to see a friend off.

Clyde smiles at me one last time before turning to face the road. He steps over the threshold, past the old wooden sign. In the silence of the night, I hear nothing but his soft footsteps and the quiet breeze, which after a few minutes carries the last of him into an open sky.

It’s a long walk back to the convoy. My mind is numb to fear as I make my way through the dark, the corn rustling in the wind beside me.

It’s been four days since I arrived at Rob Guthard’s house, sat down at his table, and listened to him speak about the new world he’d discovered. In that time, I’ve seen things I can’t hope to comprehend, sights that exist beyond the spectrum of our reality. Things I wouldn't have deemed possible.

For all I know there is a Wintery Bay, and Bonnie has already arrived at her house by the sea, standing at the door, waiting with quiet confidence for her brother’s arrival.

I may never know. But I do hope they find each other, wherever they may be.

[trickormemes]

The Conjuring sentence starters

136 starters feel free to change gender pronouns ‘read-more’ added for length content warning: suicide mention, violence

“It scares us just thinking about it.”

“When you hear us, you’re gonna think we’re insane.”

“It was moving around by itself.”

“Ever think that maybe someone had a key to your apartment and was just playing a trick on you?”

“Wait, you did what?”

“Miss me?”

“Ghosts don’t possess such power. I think what we have here is extremely manipulative. Something inhuman.”

“What’s an inhuman spirit?”

“It’s something that never walked the Earth in human form. It’s something demonic.”

“Demonic spirits don’t possess things, they posses people. It wanted to get inside of you.”

“Oh, god, we’re in the middle of nowhere…”

“What’s the matter with you?”

“Look what I found, _____.”

“No peeking!”

“Where should I hide?”

“That’s cheating.”

“Alright, what did we break now?”

“_____? What do you see down there?”

“Stop it, _____. It’s not funny.”

“Thanks for making this work. I know it’s a lot to bite off.”

“You still too fried to christen the new house?”

“And there was this really funky smell in my bedroom last night. Reeked like something died.”

“This is gonna take some serious elbow grease.”

“What are we gonna do with all this stuff?”

“Speaking of ‘knocked around,’ what did you do to me last night?”

“Feel free to look around. Just don’t touch anything.”

“Wow… This is crazy.”

“Everything you see in here is either haunted, cursed, or has been used in some kind of ritualistic practice.”

“It’s safer for these things to be in here than out there.”

“Sometimes it’s better to keep the genie in the bottle.”

“Oh, a non-skeptic. That’s a pleasant change.”

“Stop blaming yourself.”

“Stop grabbing my foot.”

“Shut up, I didn’t do anything.”

“And stop farting. It really stinks.”

“Don’t blame that on me. It’s you.”

“_____, what are you doing outta bed?”

“It’s _____. She’s in my room, she’s sleepwalking again.”

“I’ve never seen her do this before.”

“Shh. Let’s go back to bed.”

“Oh, no. _____, you got another bruise here.”

“Will you do me a favor, go see a doctor for that?”

“You’re my friend, right?”

“Who are you talking to?”

“When the music stops, you see him in the mirror standing behind you.”

“_____, you just gave me a heart attack.”

“Can we play hide-and-clap?”

“Oh, I know where you’re hiding…”

“I’m gonna get you now.”

“I can hear you breathing.”

“We’ll get through this.”

“Stop it, _____, it’s not funny anymore. I’m trying to sleep. Please stop grabbing my feet.”

“There’s someone behind the door.”

“It’s looking right at us…”

“Look, there’s no one—there’s no one here. See?”

“It’s standing right behind you…”

“There was someone else in here!”

“Well, _____, I’m pretty sure it was just a bad dream.”

“No! It talked to me! It said that it wants my family dead.”

“Why do you even try?”

“In fifteen years, have you ever been able to lie to me?”

“Maybe it’s just time we take a break.”

“You said that God brought us together for a reason.”

“So this place isn’t haunted?”

“Who is that?!”

“Who’s ever down there, I’m gonna lock you in now!”

“Okay, you can, uh, just sleep with me tonight, alright?”

“Somebody, goddamnit, tell me what’s going on in here!”

“Did you personally perform the exorcism?”

“There’s something horrible happening in my house. Could you come and take a look?”

“I’m so afraid this thing wants to hurt us.”

“I’m constantly turning up the heat, but the house is always freezing.”

“It’s gotten a lot worse the past few nights.”

“There’s this awful smell, like rotten meat. It moves around the house.”

“Look what she made me do.”

“You picking up anything in here, _____?”

“Something awful happened here, _____…”

“I’ve been seeing the dark entity that haunts your house and your land.”

“This entity has latched itself to your family and it’s feeding off you.”

“Sometimes when you get haunted, it’s like stepping on gum. You take it with you.”

“You have a lot of spirits in here, but this is the one I’m most worried about because it is so hateful.”

“I got you a present.”

“You know you can’t shoot ghosts, right?”

“You’ve actually caught things on film?”

“Well, this is where the witch committed suicide. She hung herself from that branch right above where you’re standing.”

“How could a mother kill her own child?”

“Give us a sign that you wanna communicate with us.”

“There’s definitely something here.”

“My hands are so cold.”

“For a guy who doesn’t believe, you looked a little freaked out when that door slammed shut.”

“They have such a beautiful family, don’t they?”

“We’ve gotta help them.”

“_____! Are you okay?! _____, open the door!”

“I woke up just feeling a little nauseous, that’s all.”

“I thought that was you.”

“I just wanna say thank you for coming out when you did.”

“Get outta here!”

“_____, we’re getting something.”

“There’s someone else in there with her. I’m hearing another voice. Listen.”

“Follow me. This way. This is where I hide.”

“She doesn’t remember a thing.”

“I know what she did! She possessed the mother to kill the child!”

“_____, are you gonna tell me what’s going on?!”

“_____, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I’ll explain later, okay?”

“I know it was some kind of warning. I know it.”

“_____, they don’t have a lot of time.”

“_____, there’s something wrong!”

“Get away from the door, _____!”

“You think I’m gonna let you walk into this alone?”

“Let’s finish this together.”

“If we take her out, the witch will kill her.”

“I don’t wanna stay here by myself!”

“Let’s get something to tie her up!”

“I have to do it. The exorcism.”

“Well, you got a better idea?”

“Damnit, _____, I’m not doing this with you in here!”

“Come here! Hold her still!”

“Don’t give in! Don’t let her take you!”

“Stop it! You’re killing her!”

“Understand this! We are now fighting for her soul!”

“Damn you! You leave my family alone, you hear me?! I don’t what you are, but you leave my wife alone!”

“She’s already gone. And now you’re all gonna die.”

“I found her! She’s under the house, under the kitchen!”

“No! _____, don’t! No!”

“By the power of God, I condemn you back to Hell!”

“You can’t give in!”

“Don’t let this thing do this to you, okay?”

“You gotta fight it. I know you’re stronger than she is.”

“You gotta stay with us, alright? Come on back, _____.”

“Remember that day you said you’d never forget.”

“You said they meant the world to you.”

“I am so sorry. I love you so much, I love you so much…”

“Ooh, a draft do that to your face?”

“I’d take a guy with a gun any day.”

“You did good.”

“Diabolical forces are formidable. These forces are eternal, and they exist today. The fairy tale is true. The devil exists. God exists. And for us, as people, our very destiny hinges upon which one we elect to follow.”

[my-dear-hammy]

Falling Through Time: Book 2

Masterpost

Jamilton Series Masterpost

Basking in Firelight

Part Sixty-One

Check

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Warnings: Bickering, and nsfw

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"-concluding, outwardly, public homosexual affections to be totally outlawed," Hamilton finished reading the draft of the bill Adams was currently dealing with.

"It's not outlawing homosexuals completely, but it's still disgusting," Thomas stated. He was lying on the couch, head propped up on an armrest as Hamilton lies on top of him, reading the bill from Jefferson's phone. Burr had texted it to him.

"It sounds like King George," Hamilton spat, tossing Jefferson's phone on the floor by the couch.

"Are you still going on with your theories?" Jefferson asked.

"Yes. If anything this only confirmed them."

"Remember the Sedition Acts he passed during his first presidency? These are the modern version of those."

"What? No, I agreed with those."

"They took away the freedom of speech, of the press. Not to mention making it harder for people to become free citizens of the United States," Jefferson reminded him.

"All necessary precautions for the upcoming war with France. This is completely different."

"Unnecessary precautions. They were refugees fleeing from the bloody streets of the French Revolution, not spies."

"I thought you liked the French Revolution?" Hamilton smirked. Goddamnit, Jefferson hated getting into these arguments with Hamilton, only because he loved them so much. They usually turned into heated, passionate debates and then paired with the fact that Hamilton was on top of him...

Not fair.

"I liked the idea behind it. I don't like what it turned into," Jefferson answered.

"They may have been refugees, but the acts were put in place to prevent spies and terrorists and the lot. If they weren't guilty, they had nothing to worry about."

"You just like them because if anyone refuted anything the government said, they'd get arrested and thrown in jail. Which gave your party a massive edge since Adams was a Federalist too," Jefferson pointed out as he absentmindedly ran his fingers lightly over the strip of Hamilton's exposed skin where his shirt had ridden up slightly.

"Not true!" Hamilton shot back, shifting slightly, accidentally exposing more skin.

"It is true and you know it," Jefferson hummed.

"Despite the consequences, it was helpful."

"All it did was just make the lives of hundreds of people even more brutal. Do you know how many people fled across the border in fear of being deported back to France? Do you really think they were spies?"

"The ones that stayed probably were."

"Alexander, you thought I was a spy."

"And how much sensitive information did you accidentally give the French Ambassador in casual conversation while complaining about me?"

Damn it, he had a point. "And what about everything you accidentally told the English ambassador that was always stuck to your hip while complaining about me, darling?"

Damn it, Jefferson had a point. "This has nothing to do with what's happening today," Hamilton redirected the conversation. Jefferson smirked.

"Let's not do this right now," Jefferson hummed in response, lightly kissing Hamilton's neck and gently sucking. That's the precise moment Hamilton noticed Jefferson fingers lightly grazing along his skin, tracing his scars, sending shivers up his spine, and the growing hardness pressing against his back. So Hamilton did what anyone would do in this situation. He carried on the conversation like nothing was happening, shifting his weight ever so slightly so it settled right between Jefferson's legs, just to drive him crazy. Jefferson hissed slightly but just continued working at Hamilton's neck.

"-and if you think about, it all fits together perfectly like a jigsaw puzzle," Hamilton finished reciting another conspiracy theory.

"You know what else fits together like a jigsaw puzzle?" Jefferson asked.

"What's that?"

"Us," Jefferson hissed in his ear, wrapping his arms around Hamilton's body and tightening them together. Hamilton could definitely feel the bulge underneath him now. Hamilton really wanted to see how long Jefferson could hold out, Jefferson was an extremely patient man. In fact, Hamilton wanted to see who would wait longer for something, Jefferson or Burr.

"And Lincoln Logs," Hamilton said.

"What?" Jefferson asked, stopping for a moment at the confusing comment.

"Lincoln Logs. They fit together like a puzzle too." Jefferson rolled his eyes and ran his fingers along Hamilton's ribs. Hamilton suppressed a shudder, "And Legos too, I suppose."

"Alexander," Jefferson said, pulling away from Hamilton's neck, "you're crazy."

"You know who's crazy? Mulligan. I love the guy. He's great."

Jefferson was beginning to wonder if Hamilton even had a train of thought and not just a cannon shooting random thoughts into his mind. "That's nice, darlin," Jefferson hummed.

"And when you get Lafayette drunk. Jesus Christ."

Jefferson knew exactly what Hamilton was doing and he was so not going to play his game.

Fairly.

Jefferson stepped up his game, letting his long, violinist fingers continue tracing his ribs. The other hand, however, slipped down and grazed along Hamilton's inner thigh instead. When there was a slip on Hamilton's utterings, Jefferson knew he had him.

"Without you and your lackies pressuring him into signing through something so unconstitutional, I doubt we'll have anything to worry about."

"You're just salty because I got the Sedition Acts to pass last time through those very same means."

®®®

Jefferson's fingers grazed higher and Hamilton couldn't help but open up his legs slightly. "Absolutely. I wanted to smack you around so badly. It was completely against the Constitution."

"Are you sure you weren't thinking of fucking me?"

Jefferson's hand stilled and he leaned forward into Hamilton a little more, ghosting his teeth over the skin of his neck. "I want to smack you for the Sedition Acts, but I wanted to fuck you for the debate you had behind it."

Jefferson could feel Hamilton's body flood with heat. Hook, line, now for the sinker. His eyes traveled long the smaller man's body and a satisfied smirk spread across his face once they fixed on the growing bulge in Hamilton's pants. It matched with what Jefferson was feeling delightfully.

"The impropriety," Hamilton simpered.

"Are you saying that when I dragged your ass in Washington's cabinet time and time again, you didn't feel the same way?"

"Dragged me? You mean I dragged you."

Jefferson grinned against his neck and slipped his hand higher, resting his hand on Hamilton. "This suggests otherwise."

Hamilton hissed, pressing back against Jefferson, which probably didn't help his evasion since that put his ass forcefully on Jefferson's own growing erection. "Thomas," he said, "Are we talking politics, or are we fucking? Because we can't do both."

"I'd beg to differ. I'm about to do both right now," he said, massaging Hamilton through his pants.

Hamilton exhaled, his hips twitching as he tried not to react to Jefferson's actions. "I don't hear any political talk," Hamilton ground out.

"Do I need to make my position more clear?" Jefferson asked. "Is my hand playing with your dick not enough to show that I'm against this new bill?"

"Maybe you should fuck me on stage while giving a speech," Hamilton smirked, placing his hand on top of Jefferson's and guiding it away from his dick and to the button of his pants.

"What a splendid idea," Jefferson replied, undoing his pants and smoothly pulling down the zipper. "How should I do it?" he asked, sliding his hand up Hamilton's stomach and back down, slipping his hand beneath the waistband of his boxers. "Lie you down on stage, straddle and just fuck you there?" His hand wrapping around the smooth shaft. Hamilton bit his lip and dropped his head back. "How about I put you on your hands and knees. Makes you face the crowd while I pound into you from behind. That way they can hear me speak, fuck you, and you moan my name the entire time." Jefferson's thumb ran up along him.

"Thomas," Hamilton said breathlessly.

"Or maybe, I should just bend you over the podium and take you like that," Jefferson stated, pumping Hamilton firmly. A small sound escaped the man's lips.

"Thomas," he started moving his hips, pumping himself into Jefferson's hand. "You've made your point."

Jefferson's own eyes were closed, just as Hamilton's were at this point, taking in the feeling of Hamilton's ass moving and pressing against him as the man pumped himself into Thomas' hands, steadily growing faster. Both their heads were hanging back and Hamilton's breathing was growing more rapid as his speed increased. "Thomas, are you going to do something?"

"You seemed to be doing a pretty good job of it yourself."

"You asshole," Hamilton growled quietly, thrusting more forcefully. "Least you could do is move your hand with me."

Jefferson smirked into his neck. "I thought you wanted to talk politics?"

"I thought you wanted to do both?"

Jefferson's unoccupied hand slid from where it rested under Hamilton's shirt, down and under his ass, squeezing, before starting to work his pants off. "I am doing both."

"I don't hear any politics."

"I'm afraid if I mention Adams, it'll turn you off."

"I can't believe you're friends with that man."

"You just don't like him because he won't let you control him."

"You're right. That was a turn off."

Jefferson chuckled, making his grip around Hamilton tighter. "Really? Because you don't seem turned off at all."

"Thomas," Hamilton breathed, thrusting into Thomas' hand and letting himself fall back down against Jefferson's hardness, forcing a grunt from the man's lips.

"As I was saying," Jefferson continued, having used the opportunity to bare Hamilton's ass and freeing his dick completely. "I highly doubt this anti-homosexual bill will pass. Adams has more sense than that."

"And if he doesn't?"

"He does." Jefferson loosened his grip despite Hamilton's noise of protest and simply rubbed his thumb around the tip, smearing precum. He was busy coating his fingers in saliva and didn't want Hamilton getting too far along before the fun started.

"You seem certain. What if there's someone pushing him to pass it? We could end up having to start all over again before we know it."

"Burr won't let it through. He has to sign it as well," Jefferson reminded.

"Oh yes, because we can be sure to count on Burr," Hamilton said sarcastically.

"I dunno. He's always seemed good at shooting things down," Jefferson grinned.

"Thomas," Hamilton said seriously, stilling. "That's not funny."

"I apologize," Jefferson said, starting to pump Hamilton again. "I have a feeling Burr won't let it pass for reasons of his own."

Hamilton breathed, starting to move with Jefferson's hand. "Which would be?"

"You haven't noticed," Jefferson asked, tightening his grip and pumping faster. "The way his gaze seems to linger on a certain someone?"

Hamilton bucked off Jefferson, moaning quietly. "No. Who?" He dropped his weight back down, only to gasp out sharply, arching his back.

Jefferson grinned, marking Hamilton's neck as the man squirmed around Jefferson's fingers, which he landed and penetrated himself on when he came back down. "Thomas," he moaned. "You sly asshole."

Jefferson wiggled his fingers. "Who me? You did that yourself. And my my, you're already nice and loose."

"That's what happens when you fuck me regularly."

"What else were we supposed to do? We were stuck in the house together by an unruly mob bent on our coupling."

®®®

***

"I'm surprised you weren't more upset about what Adams is trying to do," Hamilton said. They were lying together in bed while Hamilton traced circles on Jefferson dark skin.

Jefferson sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, stretching out his arms before standing. "I'm pissed. But not at Adams. I know he won't let it through. I mad that it got that far. All the way through Congress? So quickly? That pisses me off."

Hamilton rolled on his side and watched Jefferson pull on a robe, "You don't seem like it."

"That's because I don't start screaming in people's faces when I'm pissed like someone I know."

"Shut the fuck up."

Jefferson turned toward him and grinned, closed the distance between them with one long stride, and planted a kiss right on Hamilton's lips. "Make me," he growled and pulled away, going back to what he was doing.

"So what're we going to do about it?"

"We've gotta stop this bill in its tracks. There's only one course of action that's guaranteed to get us somewhere."

"Oh? And what's that?"

"We run for president again."

Hamilton smiled, "I thought you retired."

"I did. And now I'm going to spend my retirement making sure no one screws up this country before I die."

"Presidents then."

Of course, they still had a while before they could actually do that. Adams' term had to end and elections to take place. Until then, Jefferson focused on rebuilding his fortune and Hamilton got a job as a lawyer. Jefferson would have as well, but his business took him out of state a lot and he couldn't juggle cases along with it.

Hamilton ended up proving himself as an excellent lawyer once again and raked in a good income, enough for them to keep Jefferson's house and for Hamilton to book a hotel room, at a discounted price, of course, he was a war hero and ex-president after all.

As time passed, Jefferson slowly got his investments smoothed out and his income grew as well, allowing him to eventually rebuy all the land he had sold. Hamilton was extremely tempted to write to Congress and just ask for a reimbursement for Jefferson's lost money, so tempted in fact, that at one point he had a pen in hand and paper on the desk before him. He knew that Jefferson would be upset if he did and they had a livable income now. If it had been Hamilton's money, he would have done it ages ago, but it wasn't, so he set down his pen with a sigh.

That's when someone pounded on Hamilton's door. When he opened it, he was shocked to find a breathless Laurens bent over his knees, trying to catch his breath after running so hard.

"Alex!" he half yelled, half gasped for air, "Thank God you're home!"

"What is it, John?" Hamilton knew something was wrong, Laurens was pale and sweaty, shaking slightly. He wouldn't have run if there wasn't something wrong. Hamilton reached forward and steadied him as John gulped down air.

"The Manor. Trouble."

"Breathe, John. Tell me what happened." Hamilton was already dialing Jefferson.

"Goveys at the Manor. Adams, Burr and everyone else in trouble. Don't know how it happened," he said slightly more clearly, still breathing hard.

"Fuck."

----

[sending-the-message]

Has anyone heard of the Left/Right Game? (Part 6) by NeonTempo

Hi Guys,

Sorry it’s taken a while to get this posted up. I’ve been busy chasing leads with US missing persons.

I won’t waste more of your time. Log is below. If you have any information then please send it my way.

Thanks for your help guys, it means a lot.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

The Left/Right Game [DRAFT 1] 12/02/2017

Silence used to be an absolute.

That’s something I definitely miss.

Back in the real world, it would stand as self-evident that a group of people saying absolutely nothing, by definition, could not be saying any less. Maybe things are different on the road, maybe I’d just never encountered it before, but it’s clear to me now there are degrees beyond silence. A pervasive realm of deafening quiet which, following the loss of Eve and Apollo, our group has unreservedly embraced. Constructed out of our collective trauma, cemented with a cruel mixture of grief, guilt, and harrowing self-doubt, it quickly becomes apparent that this silence is stronger than all of us. The challenge of breaking it remains unmet for the rest of the journey.

We spend the next few hours burrowing through a featureless corridor of maize. The stalks rise far above the Wrangler, leaving only a thin strip of clear sky visible like the painted ceiling of a renaissance church. I find myself glancing intermittently at the CB radio, half expecting, half hoping, for Apollo’s voice to crackle through the speaker, bringing words of comfort, or a much needed attempt at levity.

After I catch myself staring at the radio for the fifth time, I decide it might be best to get on with my work. I plug my headphones into my notebook, bring up the audio files I’ve recorded thus far, and set about creating a very rough cut of our first day on the road.

APOLLO (VO) Everybody knows Rob, Rob's the god! Ahaha

I listen through Apollo’s first interview, making notes for the closing paragraph I’ll now be forced to write about him. When I have everything I need, I listen to the interview again, and then once more. It’s not lost on me that I just want to hear his voice, to lose myself in a pleasant digital echo, far removed from the frantic screams that followed him into the asphalt.

I listen to Eve’s interview next. She bristles with excitement as she talks about her upcoming visit to Roswell, steadfastly attempting to recruit me to the effort. She had no idea what she was heading into when she stepped out onto Rob’s front lawn. Then again none of us did.

The thin strip of sky is turning deep orange as I reach our encounter with the hitchhiker. It’s chilling to hear his voice after the fact, to revisit the conniving, veiled pleasantries he employed against us. I cringe as I hear Rob’s hand grasp my arm, ashamed that I let myself fall for the hitcher’s trickery.

ROB (VO): You did good, I’m sorry for grabbin’ you. I just didn’t want you to do something you’d regret.

AS (VO): No it’s fine. I was going to. Do you know what happens if you talk to him?

ROB (VO): Not sure. Came close myself once, a few years back. The way he looks at you when he thinks he’s got you? I don’t think I wanna know.

AS (VO): Rob, I-

I pause the audio file, clicking back ten seconds before pressing play again.

AS (VO): No it’s fine. I was going to. Do you know what happens if you talk to him?

ROB (VO): Not sure. Came close myself once, a few years back. The way he looks at you when he thinks he’s-

I certainly didn’t notice that at the time. I’d been so shaken by my run in with the hitcher, and so curious about the abandoned car that I’d been completely blind to anything else that had come my way. Maybe Rob misspoke, maybe he meant to say weeks or months. But if it wasn’t a mistake, if it was a truth carelessly uttered, then Rob has some explaining to do.

The Left/Right Game was posted online in June 2016, less than a year ago.

I glance sideways at him, a wall of corn rushing past us as we approach the rest stop. Throughout this trip, every emotion Rob’s displayed has seemed genuine. The sadness, the anger, the concern. They tell a story of a man who cares deeply about the welfare of those around him. Yet at the same time, it’s strikingly clear that there’s something he isn’t telling me.

With every new piece of the puzzle, the car, the text message, the faceless creature with the ringing phone, I’m left with the dilemma of when to confront Rob Guthard with what I know. I feel I’ve gathered enough to bring before him, enough to demand an explanation, but there’s no way I’d be able to truly verify his answer. I have a collection of strange and perplexing notions, lacking in the common thread that could bring me to any workable conclusion. If I am going to confront Rob, I need to uncover that thread. Much like the greatest journalists of our time, I should know the answer before I ask the question.

The jeep pulls up onto a large green space. Staring straight ahead, I find myself puzzled by the way the ground seems to stop, as if the horizon lies only twenty metres away from the car. As soon as the engine cuts out, I unbuckle my seatbelt, climb out and walk towards the grassy verge. The rest of the convoy pulls up behind me as I go.

I stop a few steps short of the edge, realising we’ve found our way to the top of a sheer cliff. A sudden swaying vertigo takes over, forcing me to take a few steps back. It doesn’t feel like we’ve been heading uphill, the road has been level since Jubilation, yet somehow I’m standing at the edge of a 400 ft. rock face, descending straight downwards, the distant earth shrouded by stalks of corn.

That’s the truly strange thing about this monolithic precipice. On either side of me, the maize runs to the very edge of the cliff and, at its base, the endless harvest continues until it stretches beyond the darkening horizon in every direction. It feels like I’m standing on the cliffs of Dover, staring over a golden ocean, its waves governed by the evening breeze. I wonder for a moment where it ends, then, taking consideration of the world I now occupy, I start to wonder if it ever does.

A belligerent scream rips me from the view. The source of the noise is blocked by the Wrangler and the first thing I see as I circle around are the shocked, wide eyed faces of Bonnie & Clyde. Once I make my way past the Wrangler’s hood, my expression mimics theirs.

Lilith has pinned Bluejay up to the side of the Jeep, a locked forearm pressing her chest against the door. Her other arm has been grasped in Bluejay’s hands, desperately stopped before it can strike her across the face. The two of them yell through gritted teeth as Lilith struggles furiously against her, vying to cause her any conceivable harm.

BLUEJAY Get the fuck off me you bitch! Get off!

I take a few quick steps over to Lilith as Bluejay attempts to kick her away.

AS: Lilith, we can’t do this… Jen…

Lilith doesn’t even register my presence as she continues her assault, deafened by the bubbling vitriol in every growling breath.

AS: Jen! We are not doing this now. Not after-

Before I can comprehend what’s happening, I’m staring at the sky, my head knocked back by the force of Lilith’s flailing elbow. A hot, raw ache radiates across my lower lip as I stagger back, raising my hand over my mouth.

Before Lilith can continue her assault, Rob swings open his door and takes two short strides over to her. He puts one arm around the girl’s waist and picks her up, carrying her safely, but firmly, over to Bonnie & Clyde’s Ford, and planting her back on the ground.

I seem to always forget how strong he is.

ROB: Damnit this is not the time.

LILITH: Take it back!

Bluejay has lost her usual snide demeanour, yet her aura still radiates an unbridled scorn. In response to Lilith’s demand, Bluejay walks back to her car and sits on the hood. She takes the Marlboros out of her pocket along with her lighter, and ignites a cigarette. I imagine the burning embers are the only company she’s comfortable to accept right now.

By the time I look back to the rest of the group, Lilith has stormed away.

AS: What did she say?

BONNIE: I didn’t hear it all.

AS: What did she say Bonnie?

BONNIE: I heard something about… she said Lilith was… that we were complicit.

ROB: Ah goddamnit… Bristol can you…

I watch Lilith, as she sits on the grass and looks over the cliffside. She begins to cry, yet I get a strong notion that it’s not something I should interrupt. It feels like something between her and Eve, a final act of reactionary mourning reserved for them, and them alone.

AS: Yeah… don’t worry. I’ll handle it.

ROB: Ok. I’ll cook us somethin’ up.

An hour passes. Lilith grows slowly calmer, drifting from cathartic release into a cold, wordless melancholy. Finishing up my dinner, I make my way over to her.

AS: It’s a strange view.

Lilith looks up at me. Her face falls.

LILITH: I cut you… I’m so sorry.

AS: It’s fine. You should see the other girl.

LILITH: Hah, yeah, I bet she looks like shit right about now.

I help myself down onto the cool ground, staring alongside Lilith into the ocean below.

LILITH: Bluejay thinks I’m complicit… in what happened to Eve.

AS: I heard.

LILITH: She used to think we were morons, now she thinks we’re all in on it… doesn’t make sense.

AS: I think she he has to believe this place is a lie. She needs it to make sense, and the harder it gets for her to rationalise the more she... Anyway, she shouldn’t have said what she said. She’s just... I guess the word is "troubled".

LILITH: She’s a fucking thundercunt.

AS: Umm… uh… ok.

LILITH: She’s right though... I killed her... and I killed Apollo too.

I look to Lilith, concerned, not quite sure what she means. Her eyes remain locked on the impossible horizon.

LILITH: Sarah… she wasn’t cut out for this, and she knew it. She wanted us to turn back this morning… but I didn’t want to.

AS: That wasn’t just your decision Lilith.

LILITH: Yes it was. She uh… she followed my lead. Always. Through everything. And I knew why she was doing it. I knew. But I let it continue, because it was convenient, because it was easy…. because deep down I liked having someone around who… who’d jump through fucking hoops for me… god it’s so fucked.

Lilith rests her head in her hands.

LILITH: She was weak. She was anxious and shy and… but that should be ok, right? You’re allowed to be weak that’s… but I made her come here. I dragged someone who couldn’t swim into the fucking deep end. And the last thing I did was lie to her and she fucking knew it.

Lilith takes a few deep, frayed breaths.

AS: What do you mean?

LILITH: I’m not uh… I didn’t, I… I loved her, you know as a… as a friend. It was always this fucking one-way street and… I don’t think she minded but. Then suddenly she’s vanishing right in-fucking-front of me and she said what she said… I mean how else was I supposed to respond to that? I had to say it back right?

Lilith maintains her composure as a steady stream of tears roll down her cheek.

AS: I don’t know what I’d do in that situation.

LILITH: I could see it in her eyes that she didn’t believe me. Fuck… I wonder how many people have died while being told like… comforting lies. How many of them fucking knew?

AS: I think you did the best you could Jen. I think you did better than most.

LILITH: You don’t need to tell me that just… are you tired? Do you need to go to bed soon?

AS: No, I don’t need to.

LILITH: There are some beers in uh… in Apollo’s bag. Is that like… looting? Or is that ok?

AS: I think he’d want us to have them, as long as he got a toast.

Lilith laughs briefly and finally smiles. She walks over to Bonnie and Clyde’s car, returning a moment later with a four pack.

We spend the next hour and a half slowly drinking them. Lilith can’t muster the right words for a toast so we just say thank you to Apollo, raising out cans to the open air. We talk about his tireless humour, his attempts to keep us all up during our first night on the road, how caringly he spoke to everyone, even at the edge of death.

We talk about Eve as well, about the pair’s misadventures, awkward college parties and the future of Paranormicon. Lilith smiles, and tells me there’s always a place for me once radio dies out.

After everything that’s happened on the road, the night can’t help but feel bittersweet. But for once, on a solitary cliff side in the middle of nowhere, it’s more sweet than it is bitter. That may not be much, but at the end of an awful day it’s more than either of us could have hoped for.

The next morning goes quickly. It’s amazing how efficient a group of people can be when none of them feel like talking. Not only that, but breakfast has become a noticeably brief affair. I manage to get through half a bag of trail mix before I find myself uncomfortably full. Rob’s words about the road’s sustaining properties ring in my ears as I look around the group. Everyone leaves their bowls half empty. Lilith hasn’t eaten a bite.

By this point, the launch protocol has been drilled into us. Despite our preoccupations, and the fractious rifts developing between us, the cars line up like clockwork as they merge onto the road. In fact, the mood of the group seems strangely procedural. All radio contact starts with the stating of a call sign, followed by that of the recipient. The cars maintain an even, careful distance between one another. We’ve seen all too clearly what happens when the rules are neglected, and no one wants to take chances any more.

AS: How far away are we?

ROB: From where?

AS: You haven’t got to the end of this road right? I mean… you’re still charting it?

ROB: That’s right.

AS: Well, how long until we get to… you know to… uncharted territory?

ROB: To be honest, not too long.

AS: What’s going to happen once we reach that point?

ROB: We’re gonna keep drivin’.

AS: Until we get to the end?

ROB: That’s the plan. You know I won’t judge you if you wanna turn around. I’m sure you can talk someone into it.

AS: Could I talk you into it?

Rob smiles.

ROB: ‘Fraid not. This trip ain’t like the others. Road’s kickin’ back like never before. I think it knows I’m comin’ all the way this time.

AS: … What is this place Rob?

Rob sighs as he slowly takes the next left on a quiet, rural T-junction.

ROB: I think it’s a stray thread… runnin’ off the spool.

The radio crackles.

BONNIE: Rob you just took the wrong turn.

An instant drum of fresh panic hammers in my chest. I stare at Rob, and he stares right back. I know he’s feeling the same thing I am, though he’s doing a much better job of keeping it off his face.

He thinks carefully for a moment.

ROB: No… no. I been down this road before. We took a right last time.

AS: Uhhh… yeah. Yes. The turn before this one was a right, I remember.

ROB: Ferryman to all cars. Thanks Bonnie for giving us the fright of our lives. We’re on the righ… we’re on the correct road.

BONNIE: No no that can’t be its… that’s wrong… Martin tell them…

CLYDE: Our mistake Rob, let’s keep going.

LILITH: Bristol…

There’s concern in Lilith’s voice. I lean over to my wing mirror, attempting to gauge the atmosphere in the car behind me. There’s clearly some commotion between Bonnie and Clyde, with the latter attempting to gently remove the walkie talkie from his sister’s hands.

There’s something else however. Past Bonnie & Clyde. Past Bluejay. An old, dilapidated road sign made of weathered timber stands by the side of the road behind us. I can’t read all of it as the peeling letters grow ever smaller, but I can piece together what it probably once said.

“Wintery Bay – 5 Miles”

BONNIE: We’re going to turn around right?

AS: Uhh one second Bonnie, I’ll… check the map.

I promptly switch off the radio.

AS: Are we not passing through Wintery Bay?

Rob turns to me, a puzzled look in his eyes.

ROB: Through where?

In the wake of those two, innocently inquiring words, my mind reels back to the morning of our third day on the road. Watching Bonnie and Clyde wander over to Rob to confess their transgressions with the hitchhiker, the quiet conversation that passed between them, Rob’s seemingly comforting response. I’d felt wretched in those moments. A few minutes prior I had tricked and deceived Clyde… yet I’d never once considered he might have done the same to me.

AS: Is it safe to pull over?

ROB: What? Why?

AS: Is it safe Rob?

ROB: Uh, yeah should be.

AS: Then pull over.

I switch the radio back on and grab the receiver. As I make a connection to Bonnie and Clyde’s car, it’s clear that an argument is brewing. Lilith is asking for me, a helpless passenger, caught in the middle of something she doesn’t understand.

AS: Bristol to all cars. We’re stopping up ahead.

Rob seems acutely aware that I’m not messing around. As soon as we roll to a halt, I throw my door open and jump onto the dusty roadside, striding over to the rest of the convoy, who are just starting to get out of their own cars. I’m conscious of a driving anger behind each step I take.

AS: You didn’t tell him.

CLYDE: Bristol, I…

ROB: What’s goin’ on Bristol?

Rob’s marches up behind me, more than a little restless to get a grip on my motives.

AS: Clyde?

Clyde looks around a circle of expectant eyes. When he delivers his answer, he’s unable to meet any of them.

CLYDE: Bonnie… Bonnie talked to the hitchhiker.

Rob’s expression shifts, his confusion degrading into a solemn understanding.

ROB: God… ahh Goddamnit. You knew about this Bristol?

AS: I told them to tell you the morning of the third day. I saw them go over to you I… I thought they did.

CLYDE: Bonnie… thought you’d… turn us around.

ROB: Well she’s was damn right. You seen what happens when the rules get broken. You shoulda told me as soon as you saw me and headed right back home.

CLYDE: That was before Ace… before everything. I didn’t know this place was-

ROB: The rules are the rules Clyde! Is anything even wrong with Bonnie? You said she gets confused... was that a lie?

Clyde doesn’t answer, avoiding Rob’s glare. As I process what Rob’s just said, I have to say I’m surprised by the deviousness of the two siblings.

When I thought they were telling Rob about the hitchhiker, it appears they’d instead told him that Bonnie was, to some degree, senile. It was a simple lie, but one that would adequately explain her odd behaviour, draw sympathy from Rob and, most ingeniously, prevent him from telling me about their conversation. A truth buried beneath an unpleasant lie, its subject matter just uncomfortable enough to head off any chance of discussion.

Still, it leaves a bad taste in my mouth.

CLYDE: We can head home if you want.

BONNIE: No.

The group turns to Bonnie. She speaks in a tone more decisive than I thought her capable.

BONNIE: He... the hitchhiker... he was talking about a… about the village we just passed. I was looking forward to seeing it, that’s all. I’m ok really.

AS: You’ve been talking about it a lot Bonnie.

BONNIE: It just sounded like a lovely place, I was sad that we passed it by. I’m sorry for worrying everyone. Please don’t make us turn around Rob.

Rob stares at them both. His position has been made crystal clear.

ROB: We’re stopping a little early today. Come the rest of the way with us, rest up… then tomorrow you both go home. You should count yourselves lucky you get the chance to turn around.

Rob marches back to the Wrangler, signalling that the discussion is over.

ROB: Lilith, you’re with us.

Lilith doesn't even try to hide her relief as she shuffles away from Bonnie & Clyde and climbs into the back of the Jeep. It’s a little heart warming that Rob still has the awareness to look out for her, angry as he may be.

As well as his surprising strength, I also tend to forget how perceptive he can be.

Bonnie, Clyde and Bluejay climb back into their respective vehicles. I catch Bonnie’s eye, the moment before she returns to the Ford. She appears truly disappointed, but otherwise resigned to keep going, satisfied to let Wintery Bay fade into the distance. It’s comforting to hear that she’s ready to put the place behind her.

It’s just a pity I don’t believe a word of it.

LILITH: It was fucking weird Bristol.

Lilith seems happy to be in the Wrangler, enjoying the sense of security the modded behemoth affords, and also greatly relieved to be away from Bonnie & Clyde. She’s spent the last five minutes detailing the thirty second argument that unfolded between them, charting its disturbing nuances as well as it’s eerie conclusion.

LILITH: ... but I swear she was basically like crying like… she didn’t understand how we could be going the wrong way. But then like, as soon as you pulled us over and she just stopped. Like I mean… stopped.

AS: That must have been disconcerting.

LILITH: You have no idea... So Rob, when are these cornfields gonna fucking end?

ROB: Soon. We’re gonna rest up for the night in a few turns. Then tomorrow it won’t be long until we’re on a track through the woods.

LILITH: The fucking woods? Are you kidding? Are we talking like… Sleepy Hollow bleeding trees or what?

ROB: Hah, wish I could tell ya.

LILITH: Wait, what do you mean?

ROB: I ain’t been that far yet. It’s new territory.

LILITH: Oh… great. Maybe the cornfields aren’t so…

Lilith goes quiet, transfixed by something in the rear view mirror, before quickly turning around to get a better look out of the back window.

The car behind us is out of control.

Bonnie is fighting to wrest the steering wheel from her brother. The Ford swerves erratically behind us, driven mad by the dynamic power struggle taking place inside it. Rob sharply accelerates out of the way as the car behind lurches drunkenly to and fro before skidding to a shuddering halt. Rob hits the brake hard, and by the time I’ve turned in his direction, he’s already slammed the door of the Wrangler, storming across the tarmac to Bonnie and Clyde.

ROB: Cut the engine!

The Ford’s engine goes silent and in the absence of its rumbling growl, new sounds emerge. The sounds of a struggle, and of wild desperate screaming.

Stepping out of the car for the second time today, I jump onto the road and cover the distance between us.

Rob is attempting to pull a screeching Bonnie from the car. Even with his impressive strength it seems to be a challenge. Bonnie claws at the walls, trying with all her might to regain her grasp on the steering wheel.

BONNIE: Please! PLEASE! Let me go! Let me go!

Rob extracts Bonnie from the car and attempts to subdue her amidst a flurry of flailing hands and elbows. She writhes and kicks as he pins her arms to her sides.

AS: Bonnie! Bonnie. Calm down ok? Let’s talk this through.

BONNIE: He told me it was on our way! He said we’d pass through!

ROB: He lied Bonnie.

BONNIE: No… no we’re going the wrong way. We’re going the wrong way!

Bonnie lashes out again, striking at Rob’s legs with her own. Rob holds her firmly, hit teeth gritted through every impact.

It’s clear that Bonnie isn’t going to let up. I run back to the Wrangler and open up the trunk. After a few moments of rummaging through my bag, I find the first aid kit and pull out an unopened pack of white zip ties.

AS: Clyde, open the back door.

Rob sees me standing with the zip ties. Even in the midst of Bonnie’s incessant struggle, he looks at me with an almost questioning air, as if he’s wondering how we ever arrived at this point. As if he’s asking whether we can really do what I’m wordlessly suggesting.

Bonnie answers the last question for him. In the slim few seconds of distraction, she slams her head back into his nose, eliciting a disgustingly loud thud and a pained growl from Rob. Dazed and confused, his nose immediately fountaining blood, Rob manages to keep his arms wrapped around her. But it’s clear this isn’t going to be sustainable, and that she isn’t anywhere close to calming down.

Clyde has opened the door, stepping back and looking on like a frightened child as we carry Bonnie over to the back seat of the Ford. I lean in before him, adjusting the headrest until it’s pressed against the ceiling, ensuring that it can’t be removed from the bracket. I then loop a zip tie around each bracket and fasten them.

BLUEJAY: What the fuck is going on?

Bluejay has stepped out of her car, making her way towards us. I realise that, to someone who is fighting to not believe in any of this, the following scene would appear at best as a melodramatic farce, and at worst, as the attempted detention of an innocent and distressed woman.

Sadly, I don’t have time to field her questions. I climb into the car. Bonnie working constantly against us as Rob eases her in after me, his hand on her head to prevent it bumping against the top of the doorframe.

Once she’s inside, I loop a second zip tie around the one I’ve already fastened on the right bracket, forcing her right hand inside it. I pull the plastic tab over the sleeve of her jumper.

I hope it’s not too tight, but at the very least it’s secure enough to keep her in place. Bonnie continues to pull against the zip ties, but it’s clear her strength has been sapped from her spirited battle with Rob.

Not quite able to look her in the eye, I push a pile of luggage out of the way and climb out the other side of the Ford. Rob and I are both getting our breath back, the former pinching his nose and adjusting stoically to the fresh pain.

BLUEJAY: Hey what the fuck are… you’re not going to leave her like that are you?

AS: Get back in your car Bluejay.

I walk back to the Wrangler, tuning out Denise’s coarse protests. Rob reaches into the Jeep’s still open trunk, and pulls out a pile of blankets and pillows. In the rear view mirror, I can see him placing them on Bonnie’s lap, giving her a place to rest her elbows.

She leans her forehead against the back of the headrest. Even with her face blocked from view, I can tell that she’s crying.

We arrive at the rest stop some twenty minutes later, the vague outline of a deep green forest blooming on the horizon. It’s earlier in the day than we would usually stop. Rob tells us he wants the entirety of tomorrow to chart the woods, as well as good time to turn back before night fall should the need arise. I’m not complaining, I’m glad of the chance to rest up following today’s events.

For the rest of the day, we take it in turns to keep an eye on Bonnie, making sure she has everything she needs. When the Ford pulled up alongside us, Lilith, Rob, and I expected to see a quivering wreck, tugging ceaselessly against her bonds. We were all surprised, and more than a little disturbed, to find her smiling. By the time my turn comes around, the sun is already dipping in the sky. Rob has prepared a small pot of miso soup in case anyone can bring themselves to eat. I finish my bowl, all too aware of how unnecessary each meal now feels, and pour out a helping for Bonnie.

I find her in good spirits.

BONNIE: How are you doing Alice?

AS: I’m fine. How are you doing Linda?

BONNIE: I’m ok. Sorry for giving you all such a fright earlier. I feel terrible.

AS: It’s fine honestly. I’m sorry about… about all this.

I gesture to the zip tied restraints. Rob has reapplied them, fastening bandages underneath the straps to afford Bonnie a modicum of comfort. Still the scene rings with a sinister barbarity which no kind consideration can make up for.

BONNIE: It’s ok. I wasn’t myself.

AS: I brought you soup. I know you might not be hungry.

BONNIE: No no I’d love some, thank you. Everyone’s being so lovely.

AS: Well, we just want to make sure you’re alright.

I submerge the spoon, drench up a measure of warm broth, and begin to raise it towards her.

BONNIE: Oh no you don’t have to… I can feed myself…

She gestures to her bound hands, the clear implication hanging in the air.

AS: No I… I don’t mind. I think it’s-

Bonnie throws her weight sideways, her elbow jabbing outwards and hitting the bowl out of my hands. Soup spills over my fleece, just a little cooler than scolding hot, and soaks immediately into the fabric. I back away reflexively, and watch Bonnie’s expression flicker like a faulty lightbulb from kind tranquility to utter, burning contempt. It’s gone as quickly as it appears, just in time for the rest of the group to look our way.

BLUEJAY: What are you doing with her?!

Bluejay storms across from her car, angrily drawing from a Marlboro and forcing the smoke draconically back into the air.

AS: Nothing. Just an accident.

BONNIE: It’s ok Bluejay, it was my mistake.

BLUEJAY: Did she get any on you?

Bluejay leans in placing her hand comfortingly on Bonnie’s, before turning to fix me with a murderous stare. It’s almost impressive how, even when caring for someone, Bluejay still manages to be simultaneously venomous to those around her.

BONNIE: No no it’s ok it was my fault. It’s fine. I’m sorry for causing trouble.

Bluejay laughs at Bonnie’s submissive apology, unable to believe what she's thinking. Her eyes remain fixed on me.

BLUEJAY: You’re a fucking coward. Look what he’s making you do. Look!

My eyes follow where she gestures. I have to admit the helpless figure of Bonnie, restrained in the back seat of the Ford, rings with an innate inhumanity, and being forced to stare my actions in the face makes me feel utterly ghoulish.

The choices I’ve made must seem insane to Bluejay, but that doesn’t mean hers are not. Despite her pretensions of rationality, I can’t help but feel that Bluejay’s actions are simply being governed by a different insanity. An insanity borne out of the desperate need to explain the unexplainable, which has morphed into an ugly cocktail of paranoia, self-grandeur, and fervent antagonism.

Bluejay notes my silent expression, most likely taking it as a personal victory. Without another word she returns to her car and shuts herself inside, festering silently and alone.

BONNIE: Do you want to know what’s wonderful Alice?

Bonnie leans towards me, lowering her voice so no one else can hear.

BONNIE: He told me there’s a house… waiting for me. My home by the sea.

AS: I’m sorry Bonnie. I don’t think there is.

BONNIE: It’s going to be a such a beautiful place. Such a beautiful place.

Bonnie flashes me a broad grin.

BONNIE: It’s been lovely knowing you Alice.

Bonnie turns away from me, placing her forehead back on the headrest. The grin doesn’t fade as I turn away. I walk back to the Wrangler, faced with the choice of changing into new clothes or my thermal pyjamas.

After removing my fleece and lying down for a just a moment, I end up sleeping in the clothes I’m wearing.

When I wake up, the Wrangler is moving.

The air mattress reverberates and my body rocks as we make a sharp U-turn. I sit bolt upright, Lilith waking up next to me, similarly bleary eyed and confused.

Rob is behind the wheel. The gear stick shakes as he transports us down the road at incredible speed.

AS: Rob what’s happening?

ROB: Bonnie got herself free. She’s headed for the turn.

I pull myself into the passenger seat, suddenly wide awake.

LILITH: What? How did she get free?

AS: Is she with Clyde?

ROB: She hit him over the head, dragged him outta the car. I couldn’t wait for him, but he’s catchin’ up.

Lilith and I turn around. Bluejay’s car is gaining on us, a distant pair of high beams steadily drowning the rear window in light.

LILITH: Why’s Bluejay helping him?

AS: She probably wants to keep an eye on us. Rob, do you think we’ll catch up with Bonnie?

ROB: I’m workin’ on it.

The Wrangler continues to rocket through the darkness. We keep our eyes fixed forward, scanning the very edge of the horizon for any sign of Bonnie’s Ford.

When Bluejay pulls alongside us, I get a look at the pair. Bluejay is nought but steely determination, dedicated to reaching Bonnie before we do. Clyde looks mortified, rocked by his sister’s actions, a small contusion on his head to mark her vicious betrayal.

Rob screeches to a halt once we arrive at the junction. Bluejay’s headlights are already illuminating the road to Wintery Bay, and Rob’s lighting rig coats the entire area in an artificial twilight. In the middle of it all, we see Bonnie, standing next to her car, smiling.

She’s already beyond the threshold of the turn.

CLYDE: Linda! Linda, please… come on back now, ok?

BONNIE: You can all come with me. There’s a place for all of us. He told me. There’s a place for everyone.

CLYDE: Please Linda. You have to come back.

A strange trail of black dust is streaming off Bonnie’s skin, rising into the air and dancing in the breeze. After a moment, it becomes clear that the edges of Bonnie are slowly degrading, converting quietly into dark ash and drifting into the atmosphere.

BONNIE: I love you very much Martin. You’re always welcome.

CLYDE: No please… please.

Bonnie turns around and climbs into the car. Without looking back, she pulls away down the road to Wintery Bay. The trail of black particles rise from the Ford as she goes, with greater and greater volume as the entire car starts to wither away before our eyes. Less than a minute later the Ford, with Bonnie inside it, gradually dissolves into dust and scatters to the winds.

Clyde doesn't speak. His entire being is quiet. Lilith immediately runs back to the Wrangler. Rob waits a while, staring at he dancing cloud of dust, before putting his arm around Clyde and gently escorting him to the Jeep.

As I turn away from the road to Wintery Bay, I take note of Bluejay’s reaction. She looks absolutely petrified, more so than I’ve ever seen her. She impulsively removes the pack of Marlboros from her pocket and holds them in her hands, before quickly returning them, unsmoked.

The night passes slowly after we return to the rest stop. All of us are exhausted, and more than willing to surrender to the escapism of sleep. Rob rests in the driver’s seat, giving up his space on the air mattress to Clyde. Everyone drops quickly enough into a quiet slumber, leaving me awake with only my thoughts for company. I find myself thinking of Bluejay, of how she could possibly hope to rationalise the disintegration of Bonnie and her car.

I wonder how I’d feel if the Left/Right Game were exposed as some unparalleled magic trick. Would I feel foolish? No I don’t think so. Impressed, maybe. Relieved? Most definitely. In fact, the more I think about it, the more I miss the innocent days when I believed the game was a hoax. I suppose I see why Bluejay is so adamant about dismissing this place; trickery however elaborate is almost always a preferable alternative to genuine horror.

The Jeep’s door opens and shuts

Part of me tries to ignore it, to wash my hands of any other developments in this harrowing night. However, exiled as I am from the kingdom of sleep, I slowly find myself sitting up, quietly putting on my boots, and letting myself out.

I step out into the cool night, observing the figure before me.

AS: Where are you going Clyde?

Clyde turns to face me, I initially interpret the look he gives me as one of resignation, but the word doesn’t quite fit. Resignation is a defeat, the world exacting compliance from you against your own wishes. But the man before me is as calm as the night air around him. His wishes are clearly his own. There’s no defeat in his eyes, but something else entirely… peace, maybe.

CLYDE: You know where I’m going Alice.

Clyde speaks softly, a quiet conviction behind every word he says. I briefly glance towards the Wrangler, wondering if I’m really equipped to handle this on my own.

CLYDE: Don’t call Rob. I made a mistake coming back to the rest stop. I shouldn’t have done... please. Just let me go.

AS: Clyde, just wait for tomorrow ok? He’ll understand. He’ll turn us around and take you home.

CLYDE: It won't be home anymore.

Clyde’s gentle stare renders me silent.

CLYDE: Linda had a husband once. He was a good man. Died young. She could never bring herself to go looking again and I… I never found who I was looking for. We’ve been by each other’s side for sixty years. Sixty years. I gotta be honest, even after all we’ve been through, everything you and I have seen, I never felt like I was in a new world until now.

AS: I don’t think I can’t let you do this Clyde.

CLYDE: I’m sorry Alice, but it’s not up to you.

Clyde breathes in the cool night air, exhaling through his nose.

CLYDE: I yelled at her to come back, when she ran off to rob that ice cream parlour. I kept calling out and calling out. I spent so much energy trying to get her to come back to me. After a while I realised she wasn’t coming back… that I’d have to follow her. I should’ve realised it earlier. That’s all I can do.... follow where she goes.

Clyde looks at me, almost apologetically.

CLYDE: Goodbye Alice.

He turns away from the convoy and wanders back down the road.

AS: Clyde.

He turns around one last time.

AS: Do you want company?

It takes roughly an hour for us to walk back to the junction. In the time we have, I’m treated to the story of Bonnie and Clyde. The warmest fragments of their life together, the moments that built them, the waves that rocked them and the places they once called home. I don’t think I’ll ever agree with what Clyde is doing, but the more he talks, the more I understand.

His stories span more than half a century, supported by a transient cast of acquaintances and friends, but at the core of each tale is a pair of siblings who meant the world to one another. The pair existed as two relative souls, quantifiable only in relation to each other. In the absence of one, the remnant was indefinable. A drifting point, unanchored in space.

The story ends just as we reach the junction

AS: I hope she's out there.

CLYDE: I hope so too. Thank you for coming with me, I know it’s late.

AS: No… it’s never a bad time to see a friend off.

Clyde smiles at me one last time before turning to face the road. He steps over the threshold, past the old wooden sign. In the silence of the night, I hear nothing but his soft footsteps and the quiet breeze, which after a few minutes carries the last of him into an open sky.

It’s a long walk back to the convoy. My mind is numb to fear as I make my way through the dark, the corn rustling in the wind beside me.

It’s been four days since I arrived at Rob Guthard’s house, sat down at his table, and listened to him speak about the new world he’d discovered. In that time, I’ve seen things I can’t hope to comprehend, sights that exist beyond the spectrum of our reality. Things I wouldn't have deemed possible.

For all I know there is a Wintery Bay, and Bonnie has already arrived at her house by the sea, standing at the door, waiting with quiet confidence for her brother’s arrival.

I may never know. But I do hope they find each other, wherever they may be.

[writerofblocks]

It’s a Process

[Note: This is an original work I submitted as part of a creative writing class. it’s kind of long, so I put it under a cut. I hope you enjoy.]

Two thousand words. How is anyone supposed to write a story that long? I mean, I know it’s technically possible; this definitely isn’t the first time this teacher has given out this assignment to a class, and it certainly won’t be the last. Page count wise, that’s like… ten, isn’t? That’s not much. Or at least it shouldn’t seem like as much as it does. The last story I wrote was 500 words- if you can even call something of that length a story- and it still felt like a stretch at the time.

At least it’s only a first draft. First drafts are allowed to be flaming garbage piles. And given that it’s due tonight and I only remembered its existence about thirty minutes ago, it’s a safe bet that this draft’s more likely to be a flaming garbage pile than not. Resisting the temptation to throw it all out and make it perfect is going to be a challenge. It’d feel better to wipe the slate clean than try to fix something that’s broken and worthless.

Wait. Stop. Thinking like that isn’t going to help.

What am I supposed to write about, anyway? The teacher said we could write about anything (within reason), but where am I supposed to go with that? Not sci-fi, I know that much. The amount of words I’d need for world-building would take up all the space given. I could write an elaborate fanfiction and disguise it by changing the names, but that just seems tacky. Besides, I already did it once this semester. Never again.

…Too hungry to think further. I need food.

The cafeteria’s a bearable enough place. At least there are a few staples I can get by on if the daily rotation of meals doesn’t work out in my favor. Though pizza every day has gotten pretty boring after a while. Maybe it’s the depression talking, but everything just tastes bland when it comes out of a buffet trough. Hot sauce would be a good way to go to fix that, if anything spicier than pico de gallo didn’t disagree with me. I still don’t know how people can willingly subject themselves to oral torture via condiments, let alone get into contests over who can eat the spiciest pepper in existence. What was it my friend said? Something about how some people are nontasters and need stronger spices to actually feel something and some people are supertasters where everything is intense. Dang, I need to look that up sometime. I wonder if the ratio of supertasters to nontasters or vice versa is linked to specific regions of the world? Would explain why some cultures enjoy spicier food while some can’t stand anything stronger than salt.

There are burritos today. A small blessing.

Write your story. Stop watching that video on your phone, pull out your notebook, and write your story. You’ll feel much better with it done, but you need to actually write the story. You’ve already watched this video ten times already, you know it by heart, why are you watching it over and over again when you have other things you’ve been meaning to get to? Put it away on the count of three. One, two, three. I said, one, two, three four five- damnit.

“We now bring to you on the Inner Brain Radio “Mambo. No 5”, but only the first measure. This will be on repeat for the next three hours.”

Excellent. Hey, can I request something different? Like, maybe some silence, or some thoughts on how I’m actually going to finish this freaking story?

“Sorry, we don’t take requests.”

That’s what I figured.

Damn, this burrito is hot. Why are all the burritos from the cafeteria burning hot? The rice is always overcooked, too. Tasteless. Feels like chewing on actual rice grains instead of, you know, cooked rice. At least it fills me up- won’t have to break my writing stride to get a snack, if it comes to that. And it always comes to that.

…Noise.

Too much noise. Mouths chewing with wet and obscene sounds. Conversations I can’t piece together but try to anyway. What if they’re talking about me?

I can’t tell whether they’re laughing or crying.

I can’t tell whether they’re laughing or crying.

I can’t tell whether they’re laughing or crying.

Need to move. No more people. I’m tired after two classes, how am I supposed to work in the real world? How am I supposed to do anything worthwhile? How am I supposed to grow and be an adult? I don’t feel like an adult. I stopped changing at sixteen and I’ve been stuck in this worthless rotten excuse of a body ever since.

Stand up. Stand up! Prickling in my muscles, everything’s too loud. Beep boop, out of people juice again. Where can I get more? People juice machine broke. Why am I thinking in memes at a time like this, I need to pack up my bag and go.

Out of the cafeteria, into the fall air. I don’t need to think about the path I’m taking. I may not be able to remember meetings, due dates, birthdays, names, anything short-term memory related, or anything that makes me viable and valid as a human adult worth caring about, but by God do I still have my muscle memory! Wondrous miracles!

What should I listen to on the walk home? Oh yeah, I’ve been meaning to listen to this album. It’d be good to listen to something new. Or, I could listen to the same set of songs I’ve been listening to on repeat for weeks now because that’s what’s comfortable to me.

Yeah. Let’s go with that.

It’s getting windier by the minute. I left my good jacket in my bedroom closet- didn’t think I’d need it today. I need to make it a habit to check the weather before I go out, I can’t keep going out under prepared like this-

What on earth is that squirrel doing?

…God damnit. Did it again. I’m just a walking stereotype at this point. I really hate that joke about people with ADHD and squirrels, but it’s true. Maybe that’s why I hate it so much.

I did take my pills today, didn’t I? The section for today is empty, so I must have. Good. I’ve gotten better about doing that.

Walk faster towards home, bow my head against the galeforce winds. It’s not galeforce, I’m exaggerating, but it’s damn windy is what it is. I’m swimming upstream, I’m a carp trying to jump a waterfall. I’m Sisyphus up a hill made out of air. I’m an adventurer on a solemn quest, I’m a badass with somewhere to be, I’m making up things that I am because the walk home is boring and I’d rather be at home under my duvet instead of be out here freezing my everything off.

Finally home. My room’s at the top of three sets of stairs. I’m the crazy lady in the attic. Stick me up here, forget about me. Or it could be that it’s smaller so they make the single rooms out of the space they have. Self reminder- finish reading “The Yellow Wallpaper”.

When I take off my shoes, I need to place them in the shoe caddy. If I do so, it will be easier to find them and they won’t be a trip hazard. Everyone wins.

I didn’t place them in the shoe caddy. Figures.

Set your bag down, pull your laptop and notebook out. This whole day will be a waste if I don’t get something down at least. Sit on your bed and make yourself comfortable. I’m not going anywhere for the next however-long-it-takes, and the desk chairs are too hard for my delicate lil’ butt to handle.

My bedsheets already smell like farts and sweat. I just washed them a few days ago. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.

A thousand underperformances on the back of my neck, constricting my lungs. I’ve barely opened the laptop and already I’m at anxiety DEFCON 2, how am I supposed to start this thing? It’s impossible, why did I put it off for this long, I’m going to fail, I’m-

Wait! Breathe. Breathe in for five, hold for five, exhale for seven. That’s it, just like your psychologist taught you. Still stressed. Thoughts still racing. Howie Mandel, I’m going to use a lifeline on this one. Pick up my phone, flip over to texts.

[Mom are you in a good place to talk right now?] [well, text] [not up for calling atm]

[I am. What’s up?]

[just. kind of stressed out] [I have a story due by midnight and I haven’t started  it yet] [trying not to beat myself up about it. not really working]

[At least you’re trying, right? That’s better than in the past.] [Maybe try doing something nice for a bit?] [Not forever, just something that will calm you down.]

[did I mention its due tonight at midnight]

[I know. But trying to do things when you’re riled up doesn’t work.]

I hate it when she’s right.

[maybe I’ll do some knitting for a bit] [still have to finish that blanket]

[Sounds like a plan <3]

One, two, three four… seven? Fuck, I dropped a stitch somewhere. Time to frog it and start over. Mom’s always astonished when I spend so much time on something and destroy it when it’s not perfect. Like I didn’t inherit it from her. She’s gotten better in recent days, but still. Still. Why do knitters call it “frogging”? Because you rip it, rip it.

…It’s nine o clock at night. When did it become nine o clock at night? Put your knitting away, goddamnit, what are you thinking? The story’s due before midnight, just open your Word doc and go!

Focus. Play with form. Poetry, writing, dance, art, living- it’s all just one connection of motion to another. But at what point does a story become a poem? Or a poem become a story, either or. I know free verse is a thing, will the teacher dock me points if it’s not within at least a certain limit of change? Maybe. I don’t know.

The word counter’s ticking up, one agonizing number at a time. It’s all bullshit, of course it’s all bullshit, I can’t write anything but bullshit. But in the Game of College Classes, all that matters is that it fulfills the requirements of the assignment. Nothing more.

Something something too rhythmic, something something “all writers are failed poets”, something something I don’t know what I’m doing, something something, just as long as it’s something.

You’ll never be good enough. This story will never be good enough. You’re unoriginal. And even if you were original, who would want someone who can’t turn things in on time? That’s all you’re good for, menial tasks, just get used up and thrown out when you’re no longer needed. You’re disposable. There are millions of other people just like you, only better because they aren’t lazy worthless garbage. No one likes you. People who say they like you and like what you do are lying. Why can’t you just write what’s in your head? You think you’re better than everyone else at this, but when it comes to brass tacks you just can’t live up to your own fantasies of greatness. Face it- you’re never going to get anywhere with this. You’re never going to get anywhere with anything you do. You’ll just give up as soon as things become even slightly tough; what were you thinking coming here, where it’s all tough all the time? Oh wait, you weren’t, you just go along with whatever someone in authority tells you because you’re a coward and can’t think for yourself without someone else giving the go-ahead. If you’re ever given control you just throw it all away and don’t do shit-

11:50pm. It’s done. Aborted thoughts that pro-lifers would have a field day with, flimsy thoughts, very little structure, absolutely meaningless in the long run, but done, blessedly done. Open your email, send it off to the professor. Write an apology for it being late at night. Send a joke that at least it’s on time. Delete the part that says “for once”- only so much self-deprecation is allowed when interacting with others before they get concerned. Hit the SEND button and try to feel proud, though you know you could have done better if you hadn’t put it off.

It’s late. I’m tired. Time to attempt to sleep. I’ll stay up until one watching videos- I know myself- but at least I need to pretend I’m going to bed or I’ll stay up even later with meaningless distractions

I’ll have to face my mistakes I’ve made with other classes tomorrow, the assignments I’ve put off elsewhere. But this is a victory. A victory that shouldn’t be this hard to get, but it’s a victory. And I’ll take it for all it’s worth.

[eightpoundsofhair]

Lapidot Week Day 2

Hello!

This is my day two sumbission for the lapidot week!

You can read it below or here on AO3

@lapidot-week

Peridot was a reasonable person. She did not jump to conclusions, she did not make assumptions based on faulty data, and she absolutely did not believe in such childhood paranoias as the paranormal. She was a scientist, after all. At least, she prided her self in being a master at the scientific method. No self respecting person of such poise as herself believed in such silly things as ghosts, or monsters, or witches.

So Peridot assured herself that she must be falling ill. That was the only viable conclusion to what she has just seen, and what her brain was concluding.

Peridot found herself leaning against her now closed door, her heart pounding and breathing erratic. She brought a shaky hand up to her forehead, and tried to determine if she had a temperature. She grumbled to herself at her seemingly normal body heat. She began to rack her brain for other symptoms of illness, headache, nausea, chills, sore throat. She found herself even more frustrated when all of the symptoms she thought of were not present in her person.

She shook her head, as she slid down her door, her heart beat obnoxiously pounding against her chest.

There had to be another conclusion.

When was the last time she read one of the Harry Potter books? She struggled to come up with a date, but figured it must have been some time last year. Unlikely.

Had she been watching conspiracy theory videos again? No, she had banned herself from doing so after getting into a fight about the moon landing online-which very much so happened by the way. Besides, she never really liked those too much anyways.

Peridot grumbled to herself again, shaking her head in her hands.

No. Her roommate was not making cups fly into the cupboards from their place in the dishwasher. She was not rinsing off a dish in water that floated above the sink. She was not sitting on the kitchen floor with towels, and pots, and pans, and dishes floating across the room. This wasn't how her roommate did her half of the chores.

Peridot chuckled to herself. This was a dream, obviously. It seemed so silly that she haven't figured it out sooner. She couldn't wait to wake up and tell her grumpy roommate about her bizarre dream.

She waited patiently, and ignored how detailed her dream room was.

Peridot grumbled after a few minutes passed, standing up and angrily kicking her bed, before regretting it, doubling over in pain at her stubbed toe.

"Goddamnit!" She exclaimed as she hopped around her room.

She let herself fall down onto her bed. She started up at the ceiling as she rubbed on her toes, the pain starting to cease.

No. It can't be real.

A knock sounded on Peridot's bedroom door, and Peridot jumped up, startled.

"Come in!" She shouted, as she sat up straight, and the door flung open.

"You okay?" Peridot's roommate, Lapis, asked, walking into the room with her hands in the pockets of her baggy, stained jeans.

Peridot nodded slowly, "Why?" She asked narrowing her eyes, pondering if Lapis knew what she had seen.

Peridot corrected herself, Lapis couldn't have known because what she had seen wasn't real.

Lapis shrugged, "Heard you scream, wanted to make sure you didn't die,"

"How considerate of you, Lazuli,"

Lapis laughed, "Yeah, I'm thoughtful like that." she walked over to a Peridot and sat down next to her on Peridot's small bed, "But seriously though, what happened?"

Peridot shrugged, embarrassed, "Stubbed my toe," she confessed.

Lapis chuckled, and swung her feet out in front of her, preparing to leave. Peridot grabbed onto her skinny arm, stopping her.

"What's up, Dot?" She asked, turning her head back. Peridot rolled her eyes at the nickname but brushed it aside, needing to ask Lapis about what had happened.

"Lapis," Peridot's voice strained, "Do you believe in magic?"

Peridot felt wildly embarrassed at first, as Lapis started at her with a blank face. But, after a moment Lapis's expression fell, and her eyes darted across the room in paranoia.

"Do you believe in magic?" Lapis asked with a forced laugh, looking away from Peridot.

"Of course not," Peridot insisted, embarrassed again for asking such a stupid question. She however, noticed Lapis's nervous looks dissipate after Peridot shot down the idea, and she began to become curious, "You didn't answer my question though,"

Lapis coughed, "What question?"

"Do you believe in magic?" Peridot insisted. As Peridot asked, Lapis's eyes darted across the room.

Lapis chuckled nervously once more, "Why do you ask?"

"Just curious," Peridot shrugged.

Lapis stared into Peridot's eyes for a long while, and Peridot felt herself blush, uncomfortable with the situation and feeling incredibly stupid, Lapis's dart of eyes and uncomfortable looks were because she was confused as to why someone so logical would ask something so stupid.

Lapis let out another uncomfortable chuckle, scratching the back of her neck, "I don't know,"

Peridot starred at Lapis expectantly, not convinced by her answer. The longer the silence lasted the more Peridot convinced herself that Lapis could preform some type of magic. Peridot quickly placed a hand on her forehead again, which once again was of a normal temperature.

Lapis scratched the back of her neck again, looking away, "I should go,"

She made to stand up, and once again Peridot grabbed her arm, and pulled her back down so she sat on Peridot's tiny bed.

"Lapis, I need you to answer me honestly. I promise I won't freak out or make fun of you,"

Lapis stared into Peridot's eyes again, her expression like a deer in the headlights. She let out another uncomfortable laugh as she stood up, "I really have to go now, Peridot,"

"Lapis!" Peridot followed Lapis out of her bedroom and down the hall, she was met with Lapis's bedroom door slamming closed. She knocked on the wood a few times, angry at the lack of an answer, but she soon gave up. She stomped over to her room and sat back down in her bed.

And that's how Peridot found herself awake at two in the morning writing a frantic blog post about her magical roommate.

She had worked herself into a state of near panic, and she couldn't talk herself out of Lapis being a witch.

She spent another hour doing research, and she found other accounts of people knowing witches who could use telepathy and teleportation, among many other things. She wanted to press Lapis further, but was convicted she'd come off as crazy, and loose her roommate whom she admired so much incredibly quickly.

She threw herself dramatically onto her bed, frustrated and exhausted, and tried to go to sleep.

**

When Peridot awoke that morning Lapis has made her breakfast, an odd and unusual gesture. Peridot gladly accepted however, tired after getting little sleep over the course of the night, begging too caught up in her thoughts to get much rest.

Lapis was silent through breakfast, and she quietly took Peridot's plate when she was finished and washed it at the sink. Peridot tried to casually watch Lapis do it, trying to act as if she wasn't intensely stating at Lapis's every move to see if the plate would float back into the cupboard.

Instead, Lapis finished washing the plate, and turned to meet Peridot's eyes. They stayed like that for a few moments before Lapis made an uncomfortable expression and walked away, rubbing her temples.

Peridot flushed, worried that her staring came off as creepy. She got some unpleasant memories of when the pair had first moved in together. A time in which Peridot learned that she couldn't not function well around pretty girls without forcing herself to not stare. She felt heavily embarrassed and she drafted a "sorry for staring at your boobs I am very gay and not used to this situation" card in her mind.

As the week went on, Lapis continued her kind gestures. Cleaning the bathroom when it was not her turn, taking out the trash unasked, vacuuming Peridot's bedroom, and the rest of the house, while Peridot showered. It was very odd, and Peridot was suspicious.

Strange things continued to happen as well. A plate that Lapis dropped and broke was mysteriously fixed and held together on its own the next day. An assumed dead house plant brought back to life. Peridot's lost hoodie, which she swore got left at the museum, returned to the laundry room after Peridot had been complaining about it.

Peridot's single frantic post about her possibly magic roommate turned into a series. A weekly "here's the weird ass shit that's happening in my house that my pretty roommate is probably doing" update.

Peridot felt like she was going mad as Lapis continued to walk on eggshells around her. The odd events were always pressed by Peridot, arguing adamantly that something weird was happening and questioning Lapis about it. Lapis tended to shrug it off, and made sure to be extra nice to Peridot the next day.

Suddenly, the stick hung prettily above Lapis's door was not merely aesthetic, but a magic wand. Or the crystals and old books that littered Lapis's room were no longer just collections, but magical items.

Peridot clicked her pen, sitting at her desk on a cloudy October day.

She prided herself on being logical, on being incredibly intelligent and a master at the scientific method. She was reasonable, and based conclusions on data, not fantasies.

She scribbled into her notebook, writing a list of evidence to conclude that Lapis was a witch.

Initial viewing of floating plates.

Suspicious behavior.

Fixing of broken things immediately.

Stereotypically "witchy" things in Lapis's room.

Refusal to talk about magic.

She read through her list, and added a few more observations before she flipped to a new page.

She titled it 'experiment number one'.

[docholligay]

But first

Hey folks, my stuff on my Patreon stays exclusive for six months! What kind of stuff will you get there? Stuff like this glorious nugget of Angsty Outers Family, which just cleared up for me to publish here! I thank all of you so much for your support!! It means so incredibly much. 

A Family Affair

Hotaru remembered a painting that had been in one of Michiru's coffee table books, with clocks yawning and stretching and melting over a desert landscape. The Persistence of Memory, it had been called, and her Michiru-Mama had told her with grand gestures about the representation of memory within it, and how it warps over time, until time and memory means precious little at all.

But that was another lie she told. Memory was everything.

She doodled a circle in her notebook. The memories had been coming back to her, more quickly now than ever. She had always known she was some sort of adopt, and that there was something about her that must not be quite right. Other girls went to school, they grew up normally, but Hotaru seemed to grow overnight, and then not grow at all. She looked a young teenager, but was somehow also two.

She was magic, like them, it had been explained. That was all. Soon, she’d be able to join them on the battlefield, her strange collection of parents.

But they hadn’t told her everything. And the clock didn’t melt so much that she couldn’t remember, now.

The rage built in her, a monster inside of her more fearsome than even the one who had come before it. In these moments, in the light of the memories that had illuminated her mind, she never so desired to embrace her terrifying power.

They had tried to kill her. They had stolen her. They had lied to her.

And they had dressed it all up in domesticity. They had read her stories and tucked her in at night and tried to make it all real, to make it all love. She felt the betrayal like a dagger in her chest, deep and throbbing within her. She had trusted them, she had loved them, and everything their family had ever been was a lie.

She heard the door close, and the sounds of them coming into the house. Hotaru looked in the mirror, and saw a storm brewing behind her own eyes she had never seen before. She had never before understood how anything within her could be capable of crushing a galaxy. And yet now, she did not doubt that such a thing was possible.

She burst out of her room and exploded down the stairs. She was like before, before they tried to kill her, before everything had happened, but she wasn’t, too. It was as if her mind carried a memory of fragility and sickness that this body did not know. Was she even herself anymore? Was she nothing more than part of their sick, silly game? She did not know, and she could not ask. Who would she ask? She was just a soldier, a pawn to them.

Nothing else.

She stopped halfway down the stairs and glared at them, the three standing there like mice enraptured by a snake’s gaze.

Michiru stepped forward, her lips parted in concern. “Hotaru, are you quite all right?”

Her voice came like a growl, low and aggressive. “You lied to me.”

Haruka was the first to step forward, smiling. “No, Firefly, we just have to put off the trip to the zoo this weekend, I’ll still take you.”

“Not about that!” Haruka recoiled at Hotaru’s sharp bark. There was a pause, and Pluto held her purse tightly, Haruka looked hurt and confused. Only Michiru’s face began to change, the concern dropping out of it and realization taking its place. Hotaru took a breath. ‘I’m not yours.”

Haruka began to walk toward her, and Pluto held her by the elbow, but Haruka did not stop. “It doesn’t matter if--”

“No!” Hotaru bit her lip, trying to keep the tears from coming. “You stole me! You tried to murder me!”

Haruka put her hand to her chest. “It--I--”

“It wasn’t so simple as that.” Michiru hung up her jacket, and smoothed her hair, taking a breath. “I will be more than happy to explain all this to you ,Hotaru, but I think you should perha--”

“Don’t do that.” Hotaru shook her head. “No.” She looked down at Haruka. “I can’t believe you.”

Haruka visibly shrank for a moment, sucking in the top of her bottom lip.

Michiru crossed her arms. “So what precisely would you have me do? I’ve offered to explain to you, as an adult, the decision we were forced to make.”

Pluto could feel it already, the changing mood of the room, Michiru building that sea wall that separated her from her own emotions, Haruka’s hurt beginning to fester and boil inside of her, just waiting for a match to convert it to anger, Hotaru beginning to tear and pull away from them, the ooze of pain where she would have been echoing through the house.

“Did you try to kill me?” She walked down the stairs, dodging Haruka’s attempt to touch her shoulder. She stopped in front of Michiru. “Did you?”

“Yes,” She folded her hands neatly in front of her. “We did.”

Hotaru threw her shoulders back. “And did you take me from my dad?”

“Yes,” Michiru shot a look at Pluto. “We did.”

“Well then,” She said with a firmness Michiru might once have been proud of, “there’s nothing else to say.” She began to clip back up the stairs, and Haruka reached out to her once more. She shrank against the banister. “Don’t touch me!”

She bolted up the stairs and slammed the door to her room. “I hate them,” she murmured to herself, like a prayer, like a reminder. “I hate them so much.”

Hotaru took a bag out of the closet and began shoving clothes into it. She struggled to hang onto the memories: Where her house was, what her father looked like, what she had been through, what they had both been through. Their dedication to kill her. Pluto taking her from her father’s arms.

How could they do this to her? How could they raise her, and pretend to love her, when all they did was lie and hide? They had all lied, not just her mothers...no, not her mothers. Her captors. Usagi, and Mina, and Rei, all of them, all of them had continued with the fiction that Hotaru belonged with them and was part of them. But Hotaru wouldn’t continue the lie. She would free herself from them.

She stomped down the stairs, bag slung over her shoulder, teeth practically bared at the three women sitting at what had been the family table, when you could call this a family.

“Take me home.” She snarled.

Pluto looked at her, calmly and full of sorrow. “Hotaru.”

Hotaru started to shake with emotion, though particularly what the emotion was, she could not say.

“Come sit.” Michiru gestured, and Hotaru hated herself for the way she moved toward the table.

She stopped herself, grinding into the floor, not allowing herself to sit, simply standing behind the chair. “What?”

“We must talk.” Michiru reached over to take Haruka’s hand. “I realize this is--”

Hotaru simply shook her head, unable to form the words.

“We love you.” Pluto realized it was the wrong thing to say the moment she said it, a thousand recollections over thousands of years of love and fighting and human pain not enough to help her avoid this moment.

Hotaru back against the wall. “You don’t! You just feel guilty.”

“It was not a choice made lightly.” Michiru tightened her grip on Haruka’s hand.

Hotaru slammed down her bag. “Then why did you lie?! Why did you pretend it never happened?!”

The three of them looked at each other, each hoping the other had some kind of answer, some wisdom, but each of them looking into their own souls and only being able to find a quiet dull whisper of I knew it was wrong. Pluto looked to Michiru, who already had taken the soft affection from her eyes and replaced it with cold disconnect.

Michiru began to open her mouth when Haruka broke from her grasp and stood up. I know it was--“Because we didn’t want to hurt you. We--” she fiddled with the back of the chair, stumbling, “--I, I didn’t want you to hate me.” There was a purity in it, a door left open, her love hanging out over the world. “We’re family.”

“You’re not my family.” Images of her father, recovered now, holding her beneath a cherry tree, flooded her mind. She looked back up at Haruka, and though she might never have claimed to be Michiru’s child, she sunk in the blow, slithered between the ribs. “I do hate you.”

Haruka took a step back and drew her arm across her chest, her brow furrowed in a deep frown.

The stress and the adrenaline began to build up in Hotaru’s mind. She got nothing, no real childhood, no choices, no chance to me a normal girl and live a siimple life, and it was unfair, it was so unfair, and these three women sitting in front of her represented everything about her unwelcome draft into a war she never understood or knew.

She pointed at Haruka, moving toward her. “You, ruined everything for me. You’re a bad person. How can you look at me, and tell me you love me, after all that? You--”

She barked back. “Goddamnit Hotaru, if you want to go bad childhood for bad childhood, I bet I’d win.” Haruka began to bristle, the heat slowly building, the fumes from the bubbling sadness and self-hate inside her beginning to crackle and pop in her general explosion of protective anger.

“At least you weren’t taken from someone who cared about you!” Hotaru yelled, and Michiru began to move toward them, seeing the words come out of Hotaru’s mouth before she had a chance to finish. “Were you jealous, because your mom didn’t love you, or--”

Haruka howled, and her fist flew into the plaster of the wall, which offered no quarter, but slammed back against her hand, and Haruka snatched it to her chest immediately and sunk against the wall, still glowering like a wounded animal.

Michiru moved between them, her hands raised. “This has all gotten terribly out of hand.”

Hotaru picked up her bag. “You’re right.” She ignored the tears stinging her eyes, ignored the pain that lay in the shadow of all her anger, and would not dare to raise her sleeve for fear it all might show, that it would break and wash away her terrible, aching anger. “I’m leaving.”

Pluto stood up, but every word that came to her lips seemed wrong and false and if it would only deepen the rift between them all further.

Haruka gave a heavy sigh that shuttered just a bit at the end. “M’sorry,” she took a deep breath, jagged and hard. “So sorry.”

It was not immediately obvious what she was apologizing for.

“Yes, I suppose you should.” The voice was Michiru’s and could only ever be, steeled and cold and empty of feeling, gutted out by Michiru’s own hand. She knelt next to Haruka and carefully looked over her hand, As Haruka turned from Hotaru and buried her head in her shoulder.

Pluto shook her head, watching the tiny family she had crumble before her and fall back into the endless eternal sea of human conflict, no more than a fraction of a blink in all the life she had lived. And yet there was no stopping, no way to reverse the terrible fall. There was only the loud cry in her own heart, called across an unfeeling black expanse.

Hotaru nodded and slung the bag over her shoulder. “Don’t talk to me.”

“I will have your things delivered.”

“Fine.”

“Marvelous.”

Hotaru turned and took the doorknob, walking into the night, never noticing that both she and Michiru were driving their fingernails into the soft meat of their palms, narrowing their eyes with the focusing pain.

You’d be forgiven for not seeing the family resemblance.

[mi6013eliotappleby]

Second draft

Ext – Sat atop a ridgeline, three antagonists (Bill Westcott, Theodore O'Diddley and Roderick O'Diddley) look upon a lonesome bank sat in a vast dry desert. Westcott; holding a pocket watch in his hand, methodically winds it without looking.

Besides the bank is a heavily guarded wagon being opened as uniformed men transfer what appears to be strongly sealed crates, each containing large amounts of gold and bonds.

Westcott -

“Right, you boys ready?”

Theodore -

“We sure are. We've been ready for weeks.”

Roderick -

“Damn right boys. Let's make us a mint!”

Westcott -

“Slow it down there, breathe and think, cos' if this goes south...”

Westcott pauses and looks away from O'Diddleys and instead at the pocket watch in hand. In the watch is a portrait of a woman.

Westcott -

“Sigh* Well, let's not get into that...”

Theodore -

“Will you quit worrying? You're in good hands. We ever let you down before?”

Roderick -

“Yeah we's ever let you down Billy?”

Westcott -

“Well I did have to carry your ass back in Ashbuck didn't I? Or did that one slip your memory?”

Westcott glares at Roderick.

Westcott -

“And I told you... DON'T call me Billy.”

Roderick looks down at the ground sheepishly while Theodore Looks disappointingly at his brother.

Westcott -

“Right, before we do this, let's go over the plan one last time. We round up the guards, we say we're gonna shoot someone square between the eyes and then... well, people start to fall in line once they know the purely white gates are only a stones throw away. Least that way we don't have to take no lives.”

Theodore -

“What's with you and no killin'?”

Westcott looks over at Theodore.

Theodore -

“Ahh don't gimme' that look, you know what I mean, you always firin' that thing, just never at folks. If you ask me it's quicker, gets the job done and stops any potential heroes from messin' things up.”

Roderick -

“Yeah its easy, Like shooting rats for supper, nothin' wrong with a lil' killing!”

Westcott -

“I got enough on my conscience already, I don't fancy being haunted by the ghosts of folks I killed. I'm a thief boys, not a killer and I ain't starting now. We got enough ridin' on this and I am NOT, gonna' screw this up... and neither are you boys, comprende amigos?”

Theodore -

“We got a reputation to keep up with Bill. We ain't messing this up.”

Wescott notices that the wagons have finished loading their cargo.

Westcott -

“C'mon, looks like they're finishing up. Remember like clock work boys.”

Theodore -

“Like clock work.”

The trio pull up their bandannas too conceal their identities and begin to ride down the ridge line as the heavily armoured wagon finishes up.

Upon arrival, the gang circle the wagon, with the O'Diddleys firing wildly into the air. The wagon has made barely any distance between that and the Bank.

Westcott -

“Gentlemen please if you'd kindly, keep them guns holstered, stick them hands up and don't do nothin' that'll be liable to get you killed.”

Roderick in an overly excited tone laughs maniacally, enjoying the hold up far too much.

Roderick -

“Yeah! get em' up! get em' up boys!.”

Carriage Driver #1 -

“Take it easy fella's, we're cooperating, we're cooperating...”

Theodore -

“That's smart thinking right there. Just as we asked.”

Westcott leans into Theodore.

Westcott- “You good out here?”

Theodore -

“Yeah we got it Bill, you do your thing, we'll do ours. We got you covered.”

Theodore says with a smirk, and without looking at Westcott no less.

Roderick -

“Oh we gonna' livin' like kings soon enough brother!”

Theodore -

“Easy brother... in good time.”

Westcott looks taken back and slightly concerned by the brothers irregular behaviour. He dismounts his horse and makes his way into the bank slowly, gun drawn.

Interior - Small bank, clerks cowering behind counter bars between them and the bank floor, Westcott holds shotgun close range and aims eye down sights ready for anything.

Cashier #1 -

“Oh lord, oh lord, oh lord...”

Westcott -

“C'mon out gentlemen. Those boys on the wagon outside knew the routine, I expect the same from you boys. No sudden movements, no hero stuff... heh, you don't need to be reminded how this is going down. I don't wanna shoot you just as much as you don't wanna get shot. Now I want bonds, gold nickels, dimes, hell even gold teeth if you have em'; in the bag, spread evenly so ma horse and I don't fall off balance.”

Cashier #1 -

“Whatever you say sir, I ain't given no trouble!”

The clerks tentatively starts too reach below the counter, Westcott leans forward to get a better view over the counter and gives a quick whistle. The cashier looks up visibly frightened.

Westcott -

“Easy there son, open the gate and let me through before you go reachin' round places I can't see.”

Cashier #1 –

“N-no, no mister! I wasn't doin' nothing, I was just a getting the keys, see?”

The cashier jangles the keys to show he was being truthful.

Westcott -

“Well explain yourself next time boy you can't afford to make a man worry like that.”

Westcott cocks gun

Westcott -

“And I'm not one who likes to worry.”

Cashier #2 faints and hits the floor.

Westcott -

“Hahaaaa I still got it, now open up!”

Cashier #1 opens up the large iron bar door as Westcott makes his way round behind the counter, gun still pointed at cashier #1.

Westcott -

“Now move it! I ain't got all day!”

The cashier begins to unlock lots of small boxes behind him, each one containing bonds and other notes. Westcott throws down three large sacks and cashier #1 starts to place them inside.

Westcott -

“Evenly now ya hear, saves me the hassle.”

The horses can be heard outside get restless and nay loudly, muffled shouting ensues.

Westcott -

“What the hell are those boys doin'?”

Cashier #1 -

“Ain't got nothin' to do with me mister! Honest!”

Westcott -

“Pfft... I figured that much. You stay right there, I'm gonna' go take a quick peek.”

Westcott approaches the front door casually keeping an eye on cashier #1, gun still drawn.

Westcott -

“Hey what going-”

As Westcott opens the door with his shoulder, gun fire breaks out and his hat is shot off. Startled, he buckles and jumps back through the front door slamming it shut.

Westcott -

“Jesus H shit! Goddammit'! There a back door to this place?!”

Westcott runs back through the steel barred door and confronts  the Cashier.

Cashier #1 -  

“Y-y-y-yeah through here...”

Bullets crash through the windows as Westcott hits the deck and grabs the Cashier.

Westcott -

“Shit! Get down and stay down you fool!”

Both start to frantically crawl towards the back door, Westcott grabs the one sack the cashier managed to fill up. They both reach the back door as the gun fire ceases. Both get up and timidly walk toward the door. Westcott pushes past the cashier.

  Westcott -

“Hold up here! I got the gun, I reckon I oughta' go first. You got a horse or something near by?”

Cashier #1 -

“N-n-n-n-no mister I don't... I usually get a ride from the coach that comes here from town.”

Westcott -

“Well I guess today really ain't your day kid, that's what, bowt' a mile or two away?”

Cashier #1 -

“There abouts...”

Westcott -

“Ah, shit. The whole god damn town probably heard that gun show, least when them law boys turn up they'll treat you to a ride home. But I sure as hell ain't hangin'! You ready there?”

Cashier #1 -

“Ready? Ready for what?”

Westcott -

“3..2..1..”

Westcott bursts the back door open and begins to run but is instantly shot in the gut and drops back. Multiple shots are fired all missing him bar another to the leg.

Westcott -

“AGH! Goddamnit, bastards got me!”

Westcott stumbles and crumbles back inside.

Cashier #1 -

“Lord above!”

The cashier grabs hold of him and drags him over to the wall and slumps him aside.

Cashier #1 -

“Oh lord mister! That looks pretty bad, are you okay?”

Westcott –

“I'm pretty sure I took a bullet in the gut, do I look okay?!”

Cashier #1 -

Sorry mister, I just.. I never seen someone get shot before, at least not this close anyhow.”

Westcott takes his hand off of the wound and examines it.

Westcott – “Yeah definitely in the gut alright... no problem, ugh, I've had more led in me before...”

Cashier #1 -

“Who the heck was firing at us?! The sheriff can't have been here by now. You have any idea mister?”

Westcott takes down his Balaclava and feels for his pistol.

Westcott -

“...I got a hunch, but don't take my word for it, not yet... call me Bill by the way... I think with the current situation I oughta' properly introduce myself...”

At this point there's a sudden slow knock at the front door.

Stranger #1 -

“Little pigs, little pigs, let me in!”

Stranger #2 -

“Hahahaha! we got em' now, we gonna gut you like a piggy too!”

Westcott recognises the voices outside.

Westcott -

“...sigh* I thought as much...”

Westcott reaches into his satchel, a sound of something being tinkered with can be heard. Westcott then hands the satchel over to the Cashier; with the item in question still conceled within.

Westcott -

“Here, put this in the biggest bag of loot you filled... and, and bring it round in front of me.”

The cashier looks at the front and back doors frantically without fulfilling Westcotts request.

Westcott -

“Look... I know you wanna make a break for it kid. But do this one thing for me...”

The cashier looks uncertain on what to do. Theodore shouts from outside.

Theodore -

“Bill! Bill! You in there? Rody here says he got a couple shots on ya! That true?”

Westcott -

“You kiddin' me!? That dipshit couldn't hit a mountain!”

Roderick -

“Shut it Billy! You know I got you good!”

The cashier looks at Westcott.

Westcott -

“This ain't about the money kid.”

Cashier #1 -

“Alright mister, alright...”

The cashier does as instructed by Westcott.

Theodore -

“Right! We're comin' in Westcott! Ready or not!”

Westcott -

“Go out the back, it should be clear...”

The cashier runs out back in a moments notice; just as the O'Diddleys break through the front doors. Theodore strolls over to Westcott gun in hand, taking note of Westcotts wounds.

Theodore -

“So he didn't get a shot on you huh? How'd you get in that there state then? You trip 'n' fall over?”

Roderick follows closely behind and sniggers at Theos comment.

Roderick -

“You sure I didn't get ya Billy?”

Westcott -

“You a real funny pair, should've known better than trusting a couple of inbred moonshiners...”

Roderick -

“Hey! Who you callin' inbred?!”

Theodore turns to Roderick and point at the door.

Theodore -

“Get back to watching that front door! Keep and eye out for the law will ya?!”

Roderick -

“Ugh... fine, fine!”

Roderick storms back off towards the front door.

Theodore -

“Ain't no need getting riled up lil' Billy. All you got there is a flesh wound after all. But less you start, ugh... cooperating, that there nip gonna' be a real problem in a short while.”

Westcott -

“Alright Theo, then what the hell do you suppose I'd do about it?”

Theodore -

“Well me and my brother here. We ain't trained to be no doctors...”

Westcott -

“I gathered you and your brother ain't qualified professionals, don't think I've ever heard about any inbred hicks becoming doctors...”

Theodore crouches and point the gun barrel right at Westcotts forehead.

Theodore -

“Now ya know I don't like your sarcasm don't ya Billy? An' I sure as shit ain't liking being called no inbred neither. I might not be as “sophisticated” at you Billy, but brains do no good trying to dodge a bullet, am I right?”

Westcott looks Theo dead in the eye and gives a minor smirk.

Westcott -

“That was a mighty big word of you to say Theo... sophisticated... nice going.”

Frustrated, Theo stands back up and kicks Westcott in the head, knocking him down to the floor completely. Roderick pears back through the front door at all the commotion.

Theodore -

“This business don't get old does it?”

Westcott spits blood on the floor and glares back up at Theo.

Theodore -

“Now it won't be long til' that Sheriff Myers catches wind of this. He's a real mean son' bitch; has a might big temper on him if I recall. Ain't no man wanna' be stirring up a fus round' him.”

Westcott lifts himself up slightly, Theo takes a couple steps back gun still drawn.

Westcott -

“So that'

s it then?! You leaving me here for the wolves? Letting them do your dirty work?! You god forsaken chicken shit!”

Theodore -

“As I was sayin' before! If you play nice and sit there quiet an' all, holding that there wound... I'm sure the locals back in town'll patch you up nicely.”

Roderick shouts over from the door and intervenes in the conversation, laughing away.

Roderick -

“Yeah before hangin' ya!”

Theodore -

“Rody! Keep an eye out will ya? I told you already!”

Roderick comes back into the bank.

Roderick -

“Can't see nothin' for miles T! Law won't be here for another time yet!”

Theodore -

“Well... I guess we should take our leave then while we got the time. Start grabbin' the bags Rod.”

Roderick grabs the suspicious bag from in front of Westcott.

Westcott -

“The halfwit O'Diddleys ride again huh?”

Theodore -

“Least we got plentiful journeys ahead of us Bill.”

[my-dear-hammy]

Basking in Firelight:Jamilton Sequel

Masterpost

Chapter Sixty One:

Check

Warnings below

----

"-concluding, outwardly homosexual affections as been totally outlawed," Hamilton finished reading the draft of the Bill Adams was trying to get passed.

"It's not outlawing homosexuals completely, but it's still disgusting," Thomas stated. He was lying on the couch, head propped up on an armrest as Hamilton lie on top of him, reading the bill from Jefferson's phone. Burr had texted it to him.

"It sounds like King George," Hamilton spat, tossing Jefferson's phone on the floor by the couch.

"Are you still going on with your theories?" Jefferson asked.

"Yes. If anything this only confirmed them."

"Remember the Sedition Acts he passed during his first presidency? These are the modern version of those."

"What? No, I agreed with those."

"They took away freedom of speech, of press. Not to mention making it harder for people to become free citizens of the United States," Jefferson reminded him.

"All necessary precautions for the upcoming war with France."

"Unnecessary precautions. They were refugees fleeing from the bloody streets of the French Revolution, not spies."

"I thought you liked the French Revolution?" Hamilton smirked. Goddamnit, Jefferson hated getting into these into these arguments with Hamilton, only because he loved them so much. They usually turned into heated, passionate debates and then paired with the fact that Hamilton was on top of him...

Not fair.

"I liked the idea behind it. I don't like what it turned into," Jefferson answered.

"They may have been refugees, but the acts were put in place to prevent spies and terrorists and the lot. If they weren't guilty, they had nothing to worry about."

"You just like them because if anyone refuted anything the government, they'd get arrested and thrown in jail. Which gave your party a massive edge since Adams was a Federalist too," Jefferson pointed out as he absentmindedly ran his fingers lightly over the strip of Hamilton's exposed skin where his shirt had ridden up slightly.

"Not true!" Hamilton shot back, shifting slightly, accidentally exposing more skin.

"It is true and you know it," Jefferson hummed.

"Despite the consequences, it was helpful."

"All it did was just make the lives of hundreds of people even more brutal. Do you know how many people fled across the border in fear of being deported back to France? Do you really think they were spies?"

"The ones that stayed probably were."

"Alexander, you thought I was a spy."

"And how much sensitive information did you accidentally give the French Ambassador in casual conversation while complaining about me?"

Damn it, he had a point. "And what about everything you accidentally told the English ambassador that was always stuck to your hip while complaining about me, darling?"

Damn it, Jefferson had a point. "This has nothing to do with what's happening today," Hamilton redirected the conversation. Jefferson smirked.

"Let's not do this right now," Jefferson hummed in response, lightly kissing Hamilton's neck and gently sucking. That's the precise moment Hamilton noticed Jefferson fingers lightly grazing along his skin, tracing his scars, sending shivers up his spine, and the growing hardness pressing against his back. So Hamilton did what anyone would do in this situation. He carried on the conversation like nothing was happening, shifting his weight ever so slightly so it settled right between Jefferson's legs, just to drive him crazy. Jefferson hissed slightly but just continued working at Hamilton's neck.

"-and if you think about, it all fits together perfectly like a jigsaw puzzle," Hamilton finished reciting another conspiracy theory.

"You know what else fits together like a jig-saw puzzle?" Jefferson asked.

"What's that?"

"Us," Jefferson hissed in his ear, wrapping his arms around Hamilton's body and tightening them together. Hamilton could definitely feel the bulge underneath him now. Hamilton really wanted to see how long Jefferson could hold out, Jefferson was an extremely patient man. In fact, Hamilton wanted to see who would wait longer for something, Jefferson or Burr.

"And Lincoln Logs," Hamilton said.

"What?" Jefferson asked, stopping for a moment at the confusing comment.

"Lincoln Logs. They fit together like a puzzle too." Jefferson rolled his eyes and ran his fingers along Hamilton's ribs. Hamilton suppressed a shudder, "And Legos too, I suppose."

"Alexander," Jefferson said, pulling away from Hamilton's neck, "you're crazy."

"You know who's crazy? Mulligan. I love the guy. He's great."

Jefferson was beginning to wonder if Hamilton even had a train of thought and not just a cannoning shooting random thoughts into his mind. "That's nice, darling," Jefferson hummed.

"And when you get Lafayette drunk. Jesus Christ."

Jefferson knew exactly what Hamilton was doing and he was so not going to play his game.

Fairly.

***

"I'm surprised you weren't more upset about what Adams is trying to do," Hamilton said. They were lying together in bed while Hamilton traced circles on Jefferson dark skin.

Jefferson sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, stretching out his arms before standing. "I'm pissed."

Hamilton rolled on his side and watched Jefferson pull on a robe, "You don't seem like it."

"That's because I don't start screaming in people's faces when I'm pissed like someone I know."

"Shut the fuck up."

Jefferson turned toward him and grinned, closed the distance between them with one long stride, and planted a kiss right on Hamilton's lips. "Make me," he growled and pulled away, going back to what he was doing.

"So what're you going to do about it?"

"We've gotta stop this bill in its tracks. I don't think Burr will allow it to pass but you never know. There's only one course of action that's guaranteed to get us somewhere."

"Oh? And what's that?"

"We run for president again."

Hamilton smiled, "I thought you retired."

"I did. And now I'm going to spend my retirement making sure no one screws up this country before I die."

"Presidents then."

***

Of course, they still had a while before they could actually do that. Adams' term had to end and elections to take place. Until then, Jefferson focused on rebuilding his fortune and Hamilton got a job as a lawyer. Jefferson would have as well, but his business took him out of state a lot and he couldn't juggle cases along with it.

Hamilton ended up proving himself as an excellent lawyer once again and raked in a good income, enough for them to keep Jefferson's house and for Hamilton to book a hotel room, at a discounted price, of course, he was a war hero and ex-president after all.

As time passed, Jefferson slowly got his investments smoothed out and his income grew as well, allowing him to eventually rebuy all the land he had sold. Hamilton was extremely tempted to write to Congress and just ask for a reimbursement for Jefferson's lost money, so tempted in fact, that at one point he had a pen in hand and paper on the desk before him. He knew that Jefferson would be upset if he did and they had a livable income now. If it had been Hamilton's money, he would have done it ages ago, but it wasn't, so he set down his pen with a sigh.

That's when someone pounded on Hamilton's door. When he opened it, he was shocked to find a breathless Laurens bent over his knees, trying to catch his breath after running so hard.

"Alex!" he half yelled, half gasped for air, "Thank God you're home!"

"What is it, John?" Hamilton knew something was wrong, Laurens was pale and sweaty, shaking slightly. He wouldn't have run if there wasn't something wrong.

"The Manor. Trouble."

"Breathe, John. Tell me what happened." Hamilton was already dialing Jefferson.

"Goveys at the Manor. Adams, Burr and everyone else in trouble. Don't know how it happened," he said slightly more clearly, still breathing hard.

"Fuck."

----

Warnings: Bickering, and sexual actions- kinda, not really.